< 


2, 


i 


The  printing  of  this  edition  of  The  Poems  and 
Prose  Remains  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet  was 
begun  in  May,  1895,  and  completed  in  April, 
1897.  Twelve  copies  on  Japan  paper,  and  one 
hundred  and  thirty-two  copies  on  hand-made 
paper,  were  printed,  and  numbered  respectively 
from  i  to  12  and  from  13  to  144. 


This  copy  is  No.  7 


THE  >POEMS  OF 
MRS.  ANNE  BRADSTREET 

(1612-1672) 

TOGETHER  WITH  HER 
PROSE  REMAINS 

WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY 

CHARLES  ELIOT  NORTON 


THE  DUODECIMOS 
MDCCCXCVII 


THK 

& 

OF 


Copyright,  1897,  by  The  Duodecimos. 


THE  DE  VINNB  PRESS. 


A/ 


CONTENTS. 

Page 

INTRODUCTION,  by  Charles  Eliot  Norton   .  .       vii 

EDITOR'S  NOTE xxxiii 

THE  POEMS  OF  MRS.  BRADSTREET  : 

Prefatory  verses  by  admirers     .        .        .  .3-14 

To  her  most  honored  father         .        .        .  15 

The  Prologue . 17 

Elements 19 


Four  Humors.. 37 

Four  Ages  i-^ 60 

(^The'Four  Seasons  ..-< 77 

The  Four  Monarchies  .  .  .  .  ^  ^  87 

A  Dialogue  between  Old  England  and  New  '.  218 

An  Elegy  upon  Sir  Philip  Sidney  .  .  230 
In  Honor  of  Du  Bartas  .  .  .  .  .234 

In  Honor  of  Queen  Elizabeth  .  .  .  238 

David's  Lamentation 243 

To  the  Memory  of  My  Father  .  .  .  245 

An  Epitaph  on  My  Mother  ....  248 

Contemplations  . .  ^  .  .  249 

W  The  Flesh  and  the  Spirit  .*"*  ^  .  .  .  259 

The  Vanity  of  all  Worldly  Things  .  .  263 

^   The  Author  to  her  Book 266 

>• 


- 


Contents 

Poems  upon  divers  occasions  :  Page 

Upon  a  fit  of  sickness  .  .  .  .  .267 

Upon  some  distemper  of  body  .  .  .  268 

Before  the  birth  of  one  of  her  children  .  269 

To  my  dear  and  loving  husband  .  .  270 

A  letter  to  her  husband 271 

Another  .  .  .  .{.  •  .  .  .  272 

Another  .  .  .  . ';  .  .  .  .  .273 

To  her  father,  with  some  verses  .  .  275 

j  In  reference  to  her  children  .  *  .  .  275 

In  memory  of  Elizabeth  Bradstreet  .  .  279 

In  memory  of  Anne  Bradstreet  .  4  .280 

On  Simon  Bradstreet  .  .  -..  ••*  .  281 

To  the  memory  of  Mercy  Bradstreet  .  .  281 

A  funeral  elegy  upon  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet  283 

Occasional  Meditations : 

For  my  dear  son  Simon  Bradstreet          ,  .291 

Meditations  divine  and  moral      .         ,        «  292 

To  my  dear  children      .        .        .        ,  .     313 

"By  night,  when  others  soundly  slept"     .  320 

For  deliverance  from  a  fever  .         .         .  .321 

From  another  sore  fit.         .        .       "\»\        .  322 

Deliverance  from  a  fit  of  fainting   .        .  -323 
Meditations  when  my  soul  hath  been  refreshed     3  24 

Upon  my  son  Samuel  his  going  for  England  .     332 

For  the  restoration  of  my  dear  husband      .  334 

Upon  my  daughter  Hannah  Wiggin       .  .     335 

On  my  son's  return  out  of  England  .         .  335 

Upon  my  husband  his  going  into  England  .     337 

In  my  solitary  hours   .         .         .        .        <  339 

For  the  letters  I  received  from  my  husband  341 

For  my  husband's  safe  arrival         .       ...  •  .     342 

"  In  silent  night,  when  rest  I  took"           .  343 

t  "  As  weary  pilgrim,  now  at  rest "          .  .     346 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Anne  Bradstreet        ....    Frontispiece. 

Governor  Simon  Bradstreet      .          .          .     opp.   vii 
Chief  Justice  Joseph  Dudley         .          .          .         viii 
Chief  Justice  Paul  Dudley       ...  xii 

The  Bradstreet  Residence  .          .          ,          xx 

Hallway  of  the  Bradstreet  House     .          .  xxix 

Rev.  John  Cotton      .          .          .          .   ..      »  .      218 

John  Winthrop    .....  224 

John  Eliot         ......        228 

Sir  Philip  Sidney  .          .          .         .  230 

William  Sallust  Du  Bartas  .          *  :      .          234 

Extract  from  the  Boston  "News  Letter"        »     348 

Cotton,  Winthrop,  and  Eliot  are  inserted  here  as  contemporaneous 
authors  and  representative  Puritans. 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


GOVERNOR  SIMON  BRADSTREET. 

Husband  of  Anne. 
From  the  original  painting  in  the  State  House,  Boston,  Mass. 


y§{ 

I1E__ 

*rr&mtt¥^vv&^^ 

THE  POEMS  OF  MRS.  ANNE  BRADSTREET. 

When  it  was  proposed  to  me,  not  long  since,  to 
write  an  introduction  to  the  edition  of  the  poems  of 
Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet  which  "The  Duodecimos" 
were  about  to  issue,  many  reasons  compelled  me  to 
decline  the  task.  The  request,  however,  led  me  to 
take  up  once  more,  after  an  interval  of  many  years, 
the  poems  of  "the  tenth  Muse,"  as  Mrs.  Bradstreet 
was  termed  on  the  title-page  of  the  first  edition  of  her 
verses,  and  I  turned  to  the  elaborate  and  excellent 
edition  of  them  published,  thirty  years  ago,  by  Mr. 
John  Harvard  Ellis.  After  looking  them  through,  I 
came  on  the  "  Elegy  upon  the  truly  pious,  peerless, 
and  matchless  gentlewoman  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet," 
written  by  my  ancestor  the  Reverend  John  Norton,  of 
Hingham.  I  had  quite  forgotten  its  existence,  and, 
on  reading  it,  it  struck  me  that  there  would  be  some 
thing  of  quaint  appropriateness  in  my  writing,  at  this 

vii 


viii         The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

long  interval,  in  regard  to  her  whose  praises  he  had 
sung,  and  that  the  act  would  not  be  without  a  certain 
piety  toward  my  ancestor.  And,  further,  I  reflected, 
that  as  I  could  trace  my  descent  in  one  line  directly 
from  Governor  Thomas  Dudley,  the  father  of  Mrs. 
Bradstreet,  and  as  the  portraits  of  her  brother,  Gov 
ernor  Joseph  Dudley,  and  his  wife,  looked  down  on 
me  every  day  while  I  sat  at  breakfast  and  dinner,  she, 
as  my  aunt  many  times  removed,  might  not  unjustly 
have  a  claim  upon  me  for  such  token  of  respect  to  her 
memory  as  had  been  asked  of  me.  Moved  by  these 
pious  considerations,  I  revised  my  decision. 

I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  speak  with  admiration 
of  my  venerable  ancestor  Mr.  John  Norton's  verses, 
but  their  defects  may,  in  part  at  least,  be  excused 
by  his  youth  at  the  time  when  they  were  written. 
Mrs.  Bradstreet  died  in  1672,  two  hundred  and 
twenty-five  years  ago,  and  if  the  Elegy  were  written 
at  that  time  (it  first  appeared  in  the  second  edition 
of  her  poems  in  1678)  Mr.  Norton  was  in  his 
twenty-second  year,  and  had  graduated  at  Harvard 
the  year  before.  His  verses  are  artificial  in  senti 
ment,  extravagant  in  expression,  and  cumbered  with 
pedantry.  The  Elegy  contains,  indeed,  two  tolerably 


CHIEF  JUSTICE  JOSEPH  DUDLEY. 

Half-brother  of  Anne  (Dudley)  Bradstreet. 

From  the  original  painting  owned  by 
Professor  Charles  Eliot  Norton,  Cambridge,  Mass. 


. 


Introductory  ix 

good  lines,  which  is  not  a  bad  proportion,  considering 
the  usual  character  of  such  performances,  in  which  a 
single  excellent  verse  would  be  surprising ;  but  to  my 
regret  I  am  obliged  to  acknowledge  that  these  two 
creditable  lines  do  not  belong  to  the  professed  author. 
They  are  these : 

"Like  a  most  servile  flatterer  he  '11  show 
Though  he  write  truth  and  make  the  subject  you." 

Now  it  happens  that  Francis  Beaumont,  in  the  poem 
addressed  by  him  to  the  Countess  of  Rutland,  the  only 
daughter  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  had  written  : 

"  Although  I  know  whate'er  my  verses  be, 
They  will  like  the  most  servile  flattery  shew, 
If  I  write  truth  and  make  the  subject  you." 

It  amused  me  to  find  that  the  young  graduate,  then 
engaged  in  his  theological  studies,  had  had  recourse 
to  the  poems  of  the  playwright,  who  was  not  held  in 
good  esteem  by  the  devout  of  those  days. 

But  even  Mrs.  Bradstreet's  repute  as  a  poet,  great 
as  it  was  in  her  own  little  circle,  hardly  stands  the 


x  The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

test  of  time,  and  it  is  not  their  poetic  merit  which  will 
\    lead  any  one  at  the  present  day  to  read  her  verses. 

The  little  that  is  known  of  her  life  has  been  often 
told.  She  and  her  husband  were  alike  of  gentle  blood 
and  gentle  breeding.  She  was  born  in  1612,  and 
married  when  only  sixteen  years  old  to  a  youth  of 
promise  nine  years  older  than  herself.  Two  years 
later,  in  1630,  they  accompanied  her  father,  Mr. 
Thomas  Dudley,  so  distinguished  in  the  later  history 
of  the  Massachusetts  colony,  on  the  memorable  voy 
age  of  Winthrop  and  his  companions  in  the  Lady 
Arbella.  Next  after  Winthrop,  Dudley  was  the  fore 
most  man  of  the  emigration,  and  the  young  Bradstreet 
was  already  one  of  the  "assistants"  of  the  Massachu 
setts  Company,  and  seems  to  have  been  held  in  respect 
for  his  own  character,,  as  well  as  for  his  relationship 
to  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  party.  Of  Mrs.  Brad- 
street  during  the  hard  early  years  of  the  Massachu 
setts  settlement  nothing  is  recorded,  and  in  her  poems 
she  tells  us  nothing  of  the  events  of  her  life  at  this  • 
time.  It  is,  -indeed,  a  striking  fact  in  regard  to  her 
poetry,  and  a  criticism  upon  it  as  well,  that  in  k  all 
there  is  scarcely  a  reference  to  New  England,  and 
no  word  from  which  one  might  gather  that  it  had  been 


Introductory  xi 

written  in  the  New  World  at  a  time  so  difficult,  so 
interesting,  so  strange  to  these  new-comers  -&oj»-the 
•Okl.  All  her  allusions,  her  figures  of  speech,  her  illus 
trations  are  drawn  from  the  old  worn-out  literary 
stock.  No  New  England  bird  sings  in  her  pages  ;  it  is- 
Philomel,  or  the  lark  ;  no  New  England  flower  seems 
to  have  been  dear  to  her ;  no  incident  or  aspect  of 
life  peculiar  to  New  England  is  described  or  even 
referred  to.  Nothing  can  be  gathered  from  her  verses 
in  regard  to  the  modes  of  existence  or  the  social 
experience  of  the  first  emigrants  to  this  "uncouth 
corner  of  the  world,"  as  Governor  Belcher  later 
called  it.  Of  all  those  things  about  which  we  should 
be  curious  and  interested  to  hear  there  is  not  a  word. 
It  is  noteworthy  how  little  of  poetic  sentiment  the 
New  Englanders  displayed  during  the  first  century  of 
the  settlement.  There  was  abundance  of  religious 
feeling  ;  abundance  of  domestic  sentiment ;  a  quantity 
of  verse  was  written ;  but  in  the  whole  mass  there  is 
scarcely  one  line  instinct  with  imagination,  and  few 
that  show  a  play  of  fancy  or  sustained  liveliness  of 
humor.  The  verses  for  the  most  part  seem  to  partake 
of  the  rugged  character  of  the  land  which  the  English- 
born  settlers  were  mastering,  and  if  every  now  and 


xii          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

then  there  be  a  gleam  of  humor,  as  in  some  of  the 
verses  of  the  eccentric  Reverend  Mr.  Nathaniel  Ward, 
of  which  an  illustration  is  afforded  by  the  commenda 
tory  piece  which  he  prefixed  to  the  first  edition  of 
Mrs.  Bradstreet' s  poems  —  if  occasionally,  I  say,  there 
be  a  flash  of  wit  or  humor,  it  has  no  native  color, 
but  might  as  well  have  had  its  origin  in  Old  as  in 
New  England. 

It  was  not  that  the  colonists  were  uninstructed 
people,  or  that  they  lacked  knowledge  of  letters ;  but 
their  minds  were  occupied  mainly  with  other  mat 
ters  more  serious  to  them  than  poetry.  They  were 
busy  in  providing  for  the  essential  needs  of  material 
life,  and  busier  still  in  saving  their  souls  according 
to  a  doctrine  which  left  them  little  inclination  for 
what  seemed  to  them  so  trivial  an  occupation  as  the 
making  of  verse.  They  were  cut  off  from  association 
with  cultivated  society,  and  were  remote  alike  from 
the  current  of  the  intellectual  life  of  the  time  and 
from  the  sources  of  refinement  and  of  taste.  This  is 
strikingly  evident  even  in  Mrs.  Bradstreet' s  poems, 
which,  indeed,  were  the  best  the  first  generation  of 
emigrants  to  New  England  produced.  She  had  not 
been  deprived  of  books,  for  her  father  was  a  lover  of 


CHIEF  JUSTICE  PAUL  DUDLEY. 

Son  of  Joseph,  and  founder  of  the  Dudleian  Lecture 

at  Harvard  College. 

From  the  original  painting  owned  by  Dudley  R.  Child,  Esq., 
Boston,  Mass. 


Introductory  xiii 

them, — Helluo  librorum  he  is  termed  in  his  epitaph, — 
and  he  left  at  his  death  a  small  but  choice  collection 
of  some  sixty  volumes.  She  was  acquainted  with  at 
least  three  books  among  the  most  precious  in  the  whole 
field  of  English  literature,  the  "  Faerie  Queene,"  the 
"  Arcadia,"  and  North's  "  Plutarch/'  *  But  though 
she  refers  to  Spenser,  there  is  no  sign  in  her  verses 
that  she  really  cared  for  his  poem.  Her  master  in 
poetry  was  Du  Bartas,  in  "silver-tongued"  Sylvester's 
translation.  She  refers  often  to  the  delight  which  she 
took  in  his  poetry,  and  to  its  having  been  the  inspir- 

1  Mr.  Ellis  has  given  in  his  Introduction  a  list  of  the  authors  to 
whom  Mrs.  Bradstreet  refers,  or  whose  works  she  had  probably 
read.  In  a  note  he  points  out  a  curious  resemblance  in  one  of  her 
verses  to  words  in  "  Hamlet."  It  is  in  the  first  edition  of  her 
poems  and  was  changed  in  the  second,  and  it  occurs  near  the  end 
of  the  second  of  the  "  Four  Ages  of  Man."  The  verse  stood  : 

"Ceased  [seiz'd]  by  the  gripes  of  Serjeant  Death's  arrests," 
which  certainly  seems  to  hark  back  to  Hamlet's 

"  This  fell  sergeant,  death, 
Is  strict  in  his  arrest,"   v.  ii.  347-8. 

It  would  be  of  interest  to  know  that  Mrs.  Bradstreet  had  read 
the  play.  There  is,  I  believe,  no  evidence  that  there  was  a  copy 
of  Shakespeare's  plays  in  Massachusetts  during  the  seventeenth 
century. 


xiv         The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

ation  of  her  muse.     She  begins  a  copy  of  verses  in  his 
honor,  with  the  declaration, — 

"Among  the  happy  wits  this  age  hath  shown, 
Great,  dear,  sweet  Bartas  thou  art  matchless 
shown," 

and  she  proceeds  to  extol  him  in  terms  which  at  last 
lead  her  to  exclaim, 

"Pardon  if  I  adore,  when  I  admire." 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Ward  was  not  far  wrong  when, 
in  his  commendatory  verses,  he  says 

"The  Auth'ress  was  a  right  Du  Bartas  Girle." 

The  immense  vogue  and  influence  of  Du  Bartas' s 
poems  in  France  and  in  England  for  more  than  half  a 
century,1  contrasted  with  the  oblivion  into  which 
they  have  fallen  in  both  countries,  affords  an  illustra 
tion  not  so  much  of  the  mutability  of  taste,  as  of  the 
fact  that  circumstances  other  than  its  purely  poetic 
merit  may  sometimes  secure  for  verse  an  immediate 

1  The  chief  poem  of  Du  Bartas,  "  The  Week,  or  the  Creation 
of  the  World,"  was  first  published  between  1570  and  1580,  the 
exact  date  is  uncertain. 


Introductory  xv 

popularity  so  genuine  and  so  wide-spread  as  to  give 
a  delusive  promise  of  lasting  fame.  Wordsworth 
in  the  essay  supplementary  to  his  famous  Preface 
of  1815  asks:  "Who  is  there  that  can  now  en 
dure  to  read  « The  Creation '  of  Du  Bartas  ?  Yet  all 
Europe  once  resounded  with  his  praise;  he  was  ca 
ressed  by  kings;  and  when  his  poem  was  translated 
into  our  language,  'The  Faery  Queen'  faded  before 
it."  Mr.  Lowell,  I  think,  goes  too  far  when,  in  his 
essay  on  Spenser,  he  declares  Wordsworth's  statement 
to  be  "wholly  unfounded."  For  the  moment,  and 
with  a  large  class,  the  poem  of  Du  Bartas  had  an  ac 
ceptance  far  beyond  that  of  Spenser,  but  Mr.  Lowell 
is  right  when  he  adds  that  "  the  vitality  of  a  poem 
is  to  be  measured  by  the  kind  as  well  as  the  amount 
of  influence  it  exerts. ' '  Spenser  himself  in  the  "  L'  En 
voy"  to  his  translation  of  Du  Bellay's  "Ruines  of 
Rome"  speaks  of  the  "heavenly  sense"  of  Du  Bartas, 
and  uniting  him  with  Du  Bellay,  exclaims : 

"Live  happie  Spirits,  th'  honour  of  your  name, 
And  fill  the  world  with  never  dying  fame  !" 

Du   Bartas' s    "Creation"    retained   its  popularity 
well  through  the  whole  Puritan  period.      In  his  dedi- 


xvi         The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

cation  of  the  "Spanish  Friar,"  in  1681,  Dry  den  says  : 
"I  remember  when  I  was  a  boy  I  thought  inimitable 
Spenser  a  mean  poet  in  comparison  of  Sylvester's  Du 
Bartas,  and  was  rapt  into  an  extasy  when  I  read  these 
lines : 

'Now  when  the  winter's  keener  breath  began 
To  crystallize  the  Baltic  ocean, 
To  glaze  the  lakes,  to  bridle  up  the  floods, 
And  perriwig  with  snow  the  baldpate  woods.' 

I  am  much  deceived  if  this  be  not  abominable  fustian." 
And  in  his  "Art  of  Poetry,"  published  in  1683,  he 
again  refers  to  the  favorite  of  his  callow  days,  and, 
scoffing  at  him  with  a  lively  quip,  says : 

"  Thus  in  times  past  Dubartas  vainly  writ, 
Allaying  sacred  truth  with  trifling  wit; 
Impertinently,  and  without  delight, 
Describ'd  the  Israelites'  triumphant  flight, 
And  following  Moses  o'er  the  sandy  plain, 
Perish' d  with  Pharaoh  in  the  Arabian  main." 

And  again  in  the  same  poem,  warning  against  bombast 
and  fustian,  he  cites  afresh  the  verses  which  had  once 
charmed  him,  and  bids  the  poets 


Introductory  xvii 

"Not  with  Du  Bartas  '  bridle  up  the  floods, 
And  perriwig  with  wool  the  baldpate  woods.'  "  1 

Even  in  our  own  century  Du  Bartas  has  not  been 
without  admirers  who  have  tried  to  restore  credit  to 
his  work,  and,  surprising  as  it  may  seem,  chief  among 
them  is  Goethe.  He  rebukes  the  French  for  their 
contempt  and  neglect  of  "The  Creation/'  and  de 
clares  that  it  possesses  genuine  elements  of  poetry, 
though  strangely  mingled.  The  author,  he  says,  deals 
with  weighty  and  important  themes  which  afford  him 
opportunity  to  display  a  naive  view  of  the  world,  and 
to  exhibit  entertainingly,  in  description,  narrative,  and 
didactic  discourse,  an  immense  variety  of  knowledge.2 

In  this  characterization  of  the  poem  Goethe  un 
doubtedly  accounts  in  part  for  its  popularity  in  the 
early  seventeenth  century.  Even  Sainte-Beuve,  who 
contests  Goethe's  judgment,  admits  that  Du  Bartas 
had  a  certain  Boeotian  fertility,  and  that  fine  fragments 
maybe  detached  from  the  mass  of  "his  dispropor- 

1  These  lines  which  ran  in  Dryden's  head  are  to  be  found  in 
the  Fourth  Book  of  the  First  Day  of  the  Second  Week  of  the 
Creation.     His   first  citation  of  them   is  wrong   in   substituting 
"snow"  for  "wool." 

2  See  the  Notes  appended  to  "  Rameau's  Neffe." 


xviii       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

tioned  Babel. ' '  The  vogue  of  "  The  Creation ' '  was, 
indeed,  due  rather  to  its  encyclopedic  character,  and 
to  its  poetic  faults,  than  to  its  poetic  merit.  It  was  a 
compilation  of  miscellaneous  learning,  and  while  it  did 
not  lack  spirit  in  versification  and  abounded  in  ingen 
ious  imagery,  its  very  extravagance  of  diction  and  ex 
cess  of  conceits  suited  the  general  taste.  But  there  was 
a  still  deeper  reason  for  its  wide  acceptance.  "The 
Creation'*  combined  piety  with  entertainment;  it  was 
the  work  of  a  grave  disciple  of  Calvin,  who  invoked  the 
Christian  muse  in  opposition  to  the  pagan  mistresses 
of  Ronsard  and  his  followers.  It  was  a  poem  for 
men  who  cared  more  for  purity  of  doctrine  than  for 
purity  of  poetry,  for  men  more  interested  in  the  Bible 
than  in  profane  literature  ;  it  was  the  poem  of  a 
party  in  religion.  The  version  by  Sylvester,  which 
was  published  in  1605,  preserved  essentially  the  char 
acter  of  the  original,  and  there  is  no  reason  for  won 
der  that  a  Puritan  girl,  born  in  1612,  when  Milton 
was  four  years  old,  a  girl  bred  piously  and  strictly, 
yet  inspired  with  some  faint  poetic  instinct,  should 
have  found  delight  as  well  as  instruction  in  Du  Bar- 
tas's  verse,  and  should  have  taken  him  for  her  master 
in  the  divine  art. 


Introductory  xix 

I  have  said  that  Mrs.  Bradstreet  apparently  did  not 
care  for  Spenser's  poetry.  She  seems  to  have  cared 
more,  but  with  great  reservations,  for  the  "Arcadia." 
In  her  elegy  upon  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  in  the  midst  of 
her  eulogy  of  him,  she  says  of  the  "Arcadia": 

"I  praise  thee  not  for  this,  it  is  unfit, 
This  was  thy  shame,  O  miracle  of  wit."  * 

And  yet,  as  if  repenting  of  this  condemnation,  she 
adds,  and  the  lines  are  among  her  most  vigorous, — 

"But  he  's  a  beetlehead  that  can't  descry 
A  world  of  wealth  within  that  rubbish  lie; 
And  doth  his  name,  his  work,  his  honour  wrong, 
The  brave  refiner  of  our  English  tongue, 
That  sees  not  learning,  valor  and  morality, 
Justice,  friendship  and  kind  hospitality, 
Yea  and  divinity  within  his  book. ' ' 

She  made  some  little  use  of  North's  "  Plutarch  "  in 
her  poem  on  "The  Four  Monarchies."  But  this 
poem  is  mainly  a  mere  dry  abridgment  of  Raleigh's 

1  These  verses  are  omitted  in  the  second  edition  of  her  Poems, 
and  in  their  place  is  the  line : 

"His  wiser  days  condemn'd  his  witty  works." 


xx          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

"History  of  the  World,"  which  indeed  I  should  have 
added  to  the  list  of  noble  books  at  her  command.  The 
poem  is  entirely  tedious,  being  little  more  than  a 
rhymed  summary  of  events,  with  no  spirit  of  exalta 
tion  in  recounting  the  fates  of  great  nations,  and  no 
touch  of  animation  in  the  narrative  of  the  heroic 
deeds  of  individuals.  It  is  a  long,  conscientious,  la 
borious  work,  which  nobody  perhaps  will  ever  again 
read  through.  I  have  looked  in  vain  up  and  down 
its  pages  to  find  a  verse  which  has  the  genuine  tower- 
stamp  of  poetry;  but  I  have  not  found  one.  Nor 
have  I  found  in  any  of  her  poems  the  grace  and  charm 
of  spontaneous  lyrical  utterance.  Every  now  and  then 
a  single  verse  shows  a  true,  if  slight,  capacity  for  po 
etic  expression;  as,  for  instance,  in  the  poem  on  "  The 
Four  Elements": 

"My  pearls  that  dangle  at  thy  darling's  ears" 

is  a  verse  not  without  melodious  flow;  and  in  her 
poem  on  "The  Four  Ages  of  Man  "  there  is  one  in 
which  a  familiar  epithet  of  Gray's  is  anticipated: 

"But  waking,  glad  to  hear  the  cock's  shrill  voice"; 


THE  BRADSTREET  RESIDENCE  AT 

NORTH  ANDOVER,   MASS. 
Built  by  Governor  Bradstreet  to  replace  the  dwelling 
which  was  burned  in    1666    (see  page   343),   and 
said  to  have  been   the   home   of  Anne    Bradstreet 


Introductory  xxi 

and  there  are  four  verses  in  her  poem  on  "The  Four 
Seasons  "  which  have  more  than  once  been  cited  as 
examples  of  her  poetry  at  its  best: 

"The  fearful  bird  his  little  nest  now  builds 
In  trees  and  walls,  in  cities  and  in  fields; 
The  outside  strong,  the  inside  warm  and  neat, 
A  natural  artificer  complete." 

But  if  these  be  the  best,  what  can  be  said  about  the 
large  remainder? 

Her  chief  work  is  a  series  of  four  compositions,  on 
"The  Four  Elements,"  "The  Four  Humours  in 
Man's  Constitution,"  "The  Four  Ages  of  Man," 
"  The  Four  Seasons  of  the  Year."  They  are  all  of 
one  design :  each  Element,  each  Humour,  each  Age, 
each  Season,  is  represented  as  discoursing  of  itself, 
setting  forth  its  own  good  and  evil  qualities.  The 
scheme  is  prosaic,  but  it  admits  of  a  great  variety  of 
theme  and  of  the  display  of  an  unusual  amount  of 
knowledge  on  many  subjects.  The  imitation  of  Du 
Bartas  is  manifest,  but  it  serves  rather  to  enhance  the 
merit  of  his  verses  than  to  secure  excellence  for  those 
of  his  admirer.  Mrs.  Bradstreet  has  nothing  of  the 
B* 


xxii       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

energy  and  abundance  of  his  vein,  nothing  of  the  pic- 
turesqueness  of  his  broad  stream  of  verse,  and  her  ac 
quisitions —  large,  even  remarkable  for  a  woman  in  her 
time  and  circumstances — were  inconsiderable  in  com 
parison  with  his  vast  if  superficial  learning.  The 
best  of  her  longer  poems  is  called  "Contemplations." 
It  is  a  series  of  simple  religious  reflections  on  the 
beauty  of  nature,  the  goodness  of  God,  the  transiency 
of  man's  life  and  of  earthly  things.  Several  of  its 
stanzas  of  seven  lines  have  grace  and  ease,  and  occa 
sional  metrical  felicity;  and  had  all  her  work  possessed 
like  excellence  it  might  still  be  read  with  pleasure. 
But  while  the  greater  part  of  her  poems  show  good 
sense  and  good  feeling,  and,  at  times,  something  of 
ingenuity  and  skill,  they  are  devoid  of  inspiration,  and 
even  of  the  lower  enthusiasm  of  the  understanding. 
1  They  are  generally  bald  and  prosaic,  and  their  reader 
readily  accepts  her  assertion  concerning  them: 

"And  for  the  same  I  hours  not  few  did  spend, 
And  weary  lines,  though  lank,  I  many  penn'd." 

Mrs.  Bradstreet' s  modest  consciousness  of  the  slen- 
derness  of  her  poetic  outfit  is,  indeed,  such  as  to 
show  that  she  was  a  better  judge  of  her  verses  than 


Introductory  xxiii 

her  too  partial  friends.  The  first  edition  of  her 
poems  was  published  in  London  in  1650,  by  her 
brother-in-law,  the  Rev.  John  Woodbridge  of  An- 
dover,  then  on  a  visit  to  the  old  country.  He  says 
in  his  preface  to  the  volume,  "I  fear  the  displeasure 
of  no  person  in  the  publishing  of  these  poems  but 
the  Author's,  without  whose  knowledge,  and  con 
trary  to  her  expectation,  I  have  presumed  to  bring  to 
public  view  what  she  resolved  should  never  in  such 
a  manner  see  the  sun." )  In  a  little  piece  entitled 
"The  Author  to  her  Book,"  written  apparently  with 
a  view  to  a  second  edition  of  it,  •SQdjghich  ha&^^Rere- 
feftcy— ifi  it  fhalf~an^trt:heT  ~whrch--~she  ever  wrote, 
Mrs.  Bradstreet  expresses  with  a  pretty  simplicity 
her  feeling  at  seeing  in  print  "  the  ill-formed  off 
spring  of  her  feeble  brain."  Let  the  reader  turn  to 
this  little  poem,  and  he  will  gain  a  very  kindly  feel 
ing  for  the  gentle  lady  who  wrote  it,  while  its  last 
verses  will  interest  him  as  a  native  specimen  of  the 
"Envoy"  with  which  the  poets  of  the  day  were  wont 
to  send  forth  their  work. 

"In  better  dress  to  trim  thee  was  my  mind, 
But  naught  save  home-spun  cloth  i'  thj  house  I  find; 


xxiv       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

In  this  array,  'mongst  vulgar  mayst  thou  roam, 
In  critics'  hands  beware  thou  dost  not  come; 
And  take  thy  way  where  yet  thou  art  not  known; 
If  for  thy  Father  askt,  say,  thou  hadst  none, 
And  for  thy  Mother,  she,  alas,  is  poor, 
Which  caus'd  her  thus  to  send  thee  out  of  door."  l 

Some  of  Mrs.  Bradstreet' s  occasional  poems  pos 
sess  a  charm  of  natural  and  simple  feeling  which  still 
touches  the  heart.  They  are  the  expressions  of  her 
domestic  sentiment,  addressed  to  her  husband  or  to 
her  children;  or  hymns  in  which  she  utters  the  de 
vout  aspirations  and  desires  of  her  soul.  In  a  little 
paper  of  religious  experiences,  which  she  prepared 
late  in  life  as  a  legacy  to  her  children,  there  is  a  pas 
sage  which  makes  one  wish  that  she  had  put  more  of 
her  own  personal  experience  into  her  verse.  She 
says:  "About  sixteen  the  Lord  laid  his  hand  sore 
upon  me  and  smote  me  with  the  smallpox.  When  I 
was  in  my  affliction  I  besought  the  Lord,  and  con- 

1  These  verses  recall  those  of  Spenser  "  To  his  Book,"  prefixed 
to  the  "Shepherds'  Calendar": 

"  But  if  that  any  ask  thy  name 
Say  thou  wert  base  begot  with  blame." 


Introductory  xxv 

fessed  my  pride  and  vanity,  and  He  was  entreated  of 
me  and  again  restored  me;  but  I  rendered  not  to  Him 
according  to  the  benefit  received.  After  a  short  time 
I  changed  my  condition,  and  was  married,  and  came 
into  this  country,  where  I  found  a  new  world  and 
new  manners,  at  which  my  heart  rose.  But  after  I 
was  convinced  it  was  the  way  of  God  I  submitted  to 
it  and  joined  the  church  at  Boston."  Would  that  she 
had  told  us  of  the  trials  of  that  time,  and  why  it  was 
that  her  heart  rose  against  the  new  world  and  the  new 
manners  to  which  she  had  come! 

Besides  this  reference  to  this  early  hard  experience, 
there  is  nothing  in  Mrs.  Bradstreet's  papers  to  indi 
cate  that  she  suffered,  as  so  many  of  the  women  of 
her  time  and  later  suffered,  from  the  black  doctrine 
which  made  their  lives  dark  with  its  shadow.  Her 
religious  meditations  have  remarkable  sweetness  and 
simplicity,  and  express  a  confidence  in  the  mercies 
of  God  which  it  was  seldom  given  to  the  tender 
hearted  in  those  days  to  attain.  Something  of  this 
spirit  no  doubt  was  due  to  the  native  serenity  and 
tranquillity  of  her  disposition^  She  even  fronted 
with  calmness  the  dreadful  peril  of  atheism  which 
dismayed  so  many  souls,  and  she  says  very  simply 


xxvi       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

with  regard  to  it,  that,  "many  times  hath  Satan 
troubled  me  concerning  the  verity  of  the  Scriptures, 
many  times  by  atheism,  how  I  could  know  whether 
there  was  a  God.  I  never  saw  any  miracles  to  con 
firm  me,  and  those  which  I  read  of,  how  did  I  know 
but  they  were  feigned.  That  there  is  a  God  my 
reason  would  soon  tell  me  by  the  wondrous  works 
that  I  see,  the  vast  frame  of  the  heaven  and  the  earth, 
the  order  of  all  things,  night  and  day,  summer  and 
winter,  spring  and  autumn,  the  daily  providing  for 
this  great  household  upon  the  earth,  the  preserving 
and  directing  of  all  to  its  proper  end.  The  considera 
tion  of  these  things  would  with  amazement  constantly 
resolve  me  that  there  is  an  eternal  being."  This  is 
unusual  thinking  and  unusual  writing  for  a  New  Eng 
land  woman  of  the  first  generation.  f&  /+$  ~^£i 

Her  life  must  have  been  occupied  mainly  with 
household  cares,  for  she  became  the  mother  of  eight 
children,  all  of  whom  lived  to  grow  up.  But  of  the 
special  incidents  of  that  life  there  are  few  indications 
either  in  her  poems  or  in  the  remains  of  her  prose. 
One  event  affected  her  greatly.  In  the  year  1666, 
in  July,  not  quite  two  months  before  the  Great  Fire 
of  London,  her  own  house  in  the  pleasant  township 


Introductory  xxvii 

of  Andover,  which  had  been  her  home  for  some  twenty 
years,  was  burned.  There  are  touches  of  natural  feel 
ing  in  the  verses  which  she  wrote  on  the  occasion,  and 
one  sympathizes  with  her  when,  looking  at  the  ruins, 
she  reflects: 

"Here  stood  that  trunk,  and  there  that  chest, 

There  all  that  store  I  counted  best ; 

My  pleasant  things  in  ashes  lie, 

And  them  behold  no  more  shall  I. 

Under  thy  roof  no  guest  shall  sit, 

Nor  at  thy  table  eat  a  bit. 

"No  pleasant  tale  shall  e'er  be  told, 
Nor  things  recounted  done  of  old, 
No  candle  e'er  shall  shine  in  thee, 
Nor  bridgroom's  voice  e'er  heard  shall  be ; 
In  silence  ever  shalt  thou  lie, 
Adieu,  adieu,  all  's  vanity." 

Among  the  things  which  perished  in  the  burning,  and 
which  she  perhaps  regretted  more  than  others  of  more 
worth,  was  the  conclusion  of  her  poem  on  the  Four 
Monarchies.  It  remained  unfinished  at  her  death. 

But  little  as  we  know  of  her  daily  occupations  and 
interests,  and  difficult  as  it  is  to  follow  even  in  fancy 


xxviii     The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

the  daily  life  of  a  housewife  in  New  England  in  that 
early  time,  there  is  enough  in  the  pieces  addressed  to 
her  husband  and  to  her  children  to  indicate  that  in 
her  home  was  much  affection  and  much  happiness. 
Her  husband,  according  to  such  report  as  has  come 
down  to  us  regarding  him,  was  an  intelligent  and  well- 
intentioned  man,  a  conscientious  Puritan,  trustworthy 
in  affairs,  and  of  a  kindly  disposition.  He  does  not 
seem  to  have  been  distinguished  by  superior  talents, 
but  he  had  a  character  which  secured  the  respect  and 
confidence  of  his  associates.  His  wife  writes  to  him 
in  terms  such  as  she  could  not  have  used  if  she  had  not 
found  in  him  all  that  was  needed  to  make  her  content 
with  life.  He  long  survived  her,  living  to  be  ninety- 
four  years  old,  thus  acquiring  and  deserving  the  appella 
tion  of  the  Nestor  of  the  Colony.  She  begins  a  poem, 
"  To  my  dear  and  loving  Husband,"  with  the  words  : 

"If  ever  two  were  one,  then  surely  we, 
If  ever  man  were  loved  by  wife,  then  thee ; 
If  ever  wife  was  happy  in  a  man, 
Compare  with  me,  ye  women,  if  ye  can." 

Other  poems  addressed  to  him  are  less  simple  in  ex 
pression  than  this,  and  in  them  she  indulges  in  the 


• 


' 


HALLWAY  OF  THE  BRADSTREET  HOUSE 
AT  NORTH  ANDOVER,   MASS. 

From  a  photograph,  1896. 


Introductory  xxix 

conceits  which  were  favored  by  poets  of  her  time. 
Perhaps  the  most  amusing  is  one  derived  from  her 
favorite  Du  Bartas,  who,  in  his  account  of  the  fishes  in 
the  Fifth  Day  of  the  Creation,  tells  how  the  mullet 
was  distinguished  above  all  other  creatures  for  its 
fidelity  to  its  mate.  So  Mrs.  Bradstreet,  writing  to 
her  husband,  says : 

"Return  my  dear,  my  joy,  my  only  love, 
Unto  thy  hind,  thy  mullet,  and  thy  dove, 
Who  neither  joys  in  pasture,  house,  nor  streams; 
The  substance  gone,  O  me,  these  are  but  dreams. 
Together  at  one  tree,  oh  let  us  browse, 
And  like  two  turtles  roost  within  one  house, 
And  like  the  mullets  in  one  river  glide  — 
Let  *s  still  remain  but  one,  till  death  divide. 

Thy  loving  love,  and  dearest  dear, 
At  home,  abroad  and  everywhere." 

But  perhaps  of  all  her  domestic  poems  there  is  none 
which  has  a  truer  accent  of  emotion  than  one  written 
"On  my  Son's  return  out  of  England,  July  17,  1661." 
The  son  had  been  away  for  more  than  four  years,  and 
she  begins  her  verses  with, 


xxx       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

"All  praise  to  Him  who  now  hath  turned 
My  fears  to  joys,  my  sighs  to  song, 
My  tears  to  smiles,  my  sad  to  glad: 
He  Js  come  for  whom  I  waited  long." 

And  again  in  the  next  year,  when  her  husband  re 
turned  from  a  visit  to  England,  whither  he,  with  the 
Rev.  John  Norton,  the  elder,  had  been  sent  on  an 
important  mission  as  agents  of  the  Colony,  she  breaks 
out  into  praises  to  the  Lord  with, 

"  What  shall  I  render  to  Thy  Name, 
Or  how  Thy  praises  speak? 
My  thanks  how  shall  I  testify  ? 
O  Lord,  thou  know'st  I  'm  weak." 

Such  utterances  are  witnesses  alike  of  the  depth  of 
her  piety  and  the  strength  of  her  affections. 

I  said  just  now  that  it  was  difficult  for  us  to  recon 
struct  in  imagination  the  days  of  the  New  England 
woman  of  the  first  generation  transplanted  from  the 
Old  World.  Our  lives  are  too  remote  from  theirs  in 
all  external  conditions  to  enable  us  to  picture  save 
in  outline  the  interests  and  the  occupations  with 


Introductory  xxxi 

which  they  were  most  concerned.  But  it  is  not  diffi 
cult  to  form  the  image  of  a  character  like  Mrs.  Brad- 
street's  as  it  is  shown  in  her  own  writing,  under  the 
conditions  of  life  which  we  know  must  have  existed 
for  her.  It  is  the  image  of  a  sweet,  devout,  serene, 
and  affectionate  nature,  of  a  woman  faithfully  discharg 
ing  the  multiplicity  of  duties  which  fell  upon  the 
mother  of  many  children  in  those  days  when  little 
help  from  outside  could  be  had;  when  the  mother 
must  provide  for  all  their  wants  with  scanty  means 
of  supply,  and  must  watch  over  their  health  with 
the  consciousness  that  little  help  from  without  was 
to  be  had  in  case  of  even  serious  need.  I  fancy 
her  occupying  herself  in  the  intervals  of  household 
cares  with  the  books  which  her  own  small  library  and 
her  father's  afforded,  and  writing,  with  pains  and 
modest  satisfaction,  the  verses  which  were  so  highly 
esteemed  at  the  time,  but  which  for  us  have  so  little 
intrinsic  interest.  She  cherished  in  herself  and  in  her 
children  the  things  of  the  mind  and  of  the  spirit;  and 
if  such  memory  as  her  verses  have  secured  for  her  de 
pend  rather  on  the  rare  circumstance  of  a  woman's 
writing  them  at  the  time  when  she  did,  and  in  the 
place  where  she  lived,  than  upon  their  poetic  worth, 


xxxii     The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

it  is  a  memory  honorable  to  her,  and  it  happily  pre 
serves  the  name  of  a  good  woman,  among  whose  de 
scendants  has  been  more  than  one  poet  whose  verses 
reflect  lustre  on  her  own.1 

CHARLES  ELIOT  NORTON. 
JANUARY,  1897. 


1  Through  one  of  her  children  she  is  the  ancestress  of  Richard 
Henry  Dana;  through  another,  of  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


EDITOR'S   NOTE. 

The  FIRST  EDITION  of  Mrs.  Bradstreet's  poems 
was  printed  in  London  in  1650.  There  had  been  a 
press  at  Cambridge,  Massachusetts,  since  1638,  but 
there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  this  book  was 
offered  to  it  for  printing,  for  the  press  was  constantly 
occupied  with  church,  state,  and  educational  docu 
ments  of  importance,  and  had  no  leisure  for  work 
which  was  not  oT  stern  necessity. 

It  would  seem  that  the  Rev.  John  Woodbridge, 
who  had  come  to  New  England  in  1634,  an<^  ^ac^ 
married  Mrs.  Bradstreet's  younger  sister  Mercy,  was 
much  impressed  by  his  sister-in-law's  tf  gracious  de 
meanor,  eminent  parts,  pious  conversation,  and  cour 
teous  disposition,"  and,  upon  his  return  for  a  visit  to 
the  mother  country  in  1 647,  took  with  him  a  number 
of  her  poems  in  manuscript,  and  had  them  printed  in 
London  without  the  consent  of  the  author.  To  jus 
tify  himself  in  his  course,  he  secured  a  number  of 
commendatory  epistles  in  verse  from  friends  and  ad- 

C  xxxiii 


THE 

TENTH  MUSE 

I  Lately  fprungup  in  AMERICA 
I  OR 

|Severall  Poems.,  compiled 

with  great  variety  of  V  Vit 

^  and  Learning/ull  of  delight.          g 

I  Wherein  efpecially  is  contained  a  com-  & 
pleat  difcourfe  and  defcription  of  '       p! 
(Elements, 

The 


|  Together  with  an  Exaft  Epitomie  of; 
•9  the  Four  Monarchies,  W«. 


Roman. 
|  Alfo  a  Dialogue  between  Old  EflglW  and  ^ 

Newjconcerning  the  late  troubles. 
|        Wuhdivers  other  plealant^ndfgrious  Poems.        fl 

By  aGentlewonianin  thofe  parts. 


Printed  at  London  for  fttpbtn  g^rf//  at  thc  fignc  of  t|,c 
B.blein  Popes  Head-Alley.   1650. 


TITLE-PAGE  OF  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 

SIZE    OF    THE    ORIGINAL. 


Introductory  xxxv 

mirers  of  the  author,  and  inserted  them  at  the  begin 
ning  of  the  volume  directly  after  his  own  quaint 
preface  in  which  he  sought  to  appease  the  expected 
resentment  of  Mrs.  Bradstreet. 

"The  Tenth  Muse"  could  not  have  been  a 
woman  if  when  she  received  a  copy  of  the  book  she 
did  not  seize  upon  it,  in  spite  of  her  protestations, 
with  a  fluttering,  pleased  excitement.  But  a  perusal 
of  her  writings  in  type  revealed  to  her  mortified 
gaze  the  extent  of  her  own  shortcomings  and  the 
inevitable  blunders  of  the  printer.  Mrs.  Bradstreet 
was  the  first  —  but  not  the  last — American  author 
whose  "blushing  was  not  small"  at  sight  of  her  first 
book;  and  she  later  (p.  266  of  this  edition)  recorded 
with  some  asperity  her  feelings  against  those  "friends 
less  wise  than  true"  who  were  responsible  for  the 
publication  of  her  "ragged  lines,"  and  against  the 
printer  who  instead  of  "lessening  her  errors"  added 
fresh  faults  of  his  own. 

She  undertook  a  revision  of  this  edition,  but  with 
the  birth  of  her  eighth  child,  the  death  of  her  father, 
the  frequent  absence  of  her  husband  upon  public  em 
ployment,  and  her  family  cares,  her  literary  occupa 
tions  were  interrupted;  and  when  in  July,  1666,  the 
house  in  which  she  lived  at  Andover  was  burned  to 
the  ground,  and  her  papers  "fell  a  prey  to  the  raging 
fire,"  she  seems  to  have  abandoned  all  idea  of  further 
effort  in  that  direction. 


xxxvi     The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Mrs.  Bradstreet  died  in  1672.  Six  years  later  the 
SECOND  EDITION  of  her  Poems  was  printed. 
At  the  end  of  the  book  was  placed  additional  matter, 
with  this  heading:  "Several  other  poems  made  by  the 
author  upon  divers  occasions  were  found  among  her  pa 
pers  after  her  death,  which  she  never  meant  should  come 
to  public  view  ;  amongst  which  these  following,  at  the 
desire  of  some  friends  that  knew  her  well,  are  here  in 
serted."  It  is  surmised  that  this  edition  was  prepared 
for  the  press  by  the  Rev.  John  Norton,  of  Hingham, 
who  appended  a  "Funeral  Elegy "  upon  the  author. 

John  Foster  was  the  printer  of  this  book.  He 
was  graduated  from  Harvard  College  in  1667,  was 
authorized  to  set  up  a  press  at  Boston  about  1676, 
and  died  in  1681  aged  thirty-three  years.  Although 
Mr.  Foster  appears  to  have  been  much  respected,  he 
was  responsible  for  what  may  be  called  "a  deal  of 
indifferent  printing."  Just  what  part  he  took  in  the 
actual  labor  of  book-making  is  not  known;  it  is  chari 
table  to  suppose  that  he  was  not  bred  to  the  art,  and 
employed  unskilful  and  careless  workmen. 

In  setting  the  types  for  this  Second  Edition  a  cer 
tain  measure,  or  width  of  page,  was  chosen.  This 
was  roomy  enough  for  the  majority  of  lines  in  the 
book  ;  but  an  occasional  long-syllable  verse  was  met, 
and  the  compositor  seems  to  have  tried  hard  to  make 
each  one  fit  the  measure,  and  not  to  allow  a  portion 
of  it  to  turn  over  to  make  another  line.  Thus  we 


SEVERAL 

POEMS! 

Compiled  with  great  variety  of  Wit  and 
Learning,  full  of  Delight. 

Wherein  efpecially  is  contained  a  compleat 
Difcourfe,  and  Defcription  of 

(     ELEMENTS 

TheFour    J    CONSTiTUTlONS, 
>    AGES  of  Man, 
C    SEASONSoftheYear. 
Together  with  an  exact  Epitome  of 

^^  t          i  y*    /* 

the  three  nrft  Monarchy e/ 
^     JSSTRIAN, 
1     PERSIAN, 
(     GRECIAN. 

.A  0/f£'Romane  Common-wealth 

<$•  to  the  end  of  their  /aft  King  : 

%  With  diverfe  other  pleafant  &  ferious  Poems$ 

By  a  Gentlewoman  in  Ntw-En^UneL         & 

Thefecond  Editinny  Correfted  ty  the  Author* 
and  enlarged  by  an  Additionoffcutralother 
^ound  among  ft  her  Papers 
after  her  Death, ^ 

Boflov,?ritttdby?ohnFoJler,  1678.        $ 


TITLE-PAGE   OF  THE   SECOND    EDITION. 

*C  SIZE    OF    THE    ORIGINAL. 


xxxviii  The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

frequently  find  words  in  such  a  case  huddled  together 
with  very  little  space  between  them, —  sometimes 
none  at  all ;  and  when  that  did  not  avail  words  were 
abbreviated,  with  or  without  an  apostrophe,  capitals 
were  reduced  to  small  letters,  long  "and"  was  re 
placed  by  short  "&,"  punctuation  marks  were  omit 
ted,  and  other  devices  applied  to  accomplish  the 
purpose.  This  heroic  treatment  was  the  common 
resort  of  compositors  in  the  early  stages  of  typog 
raphy,  and  had  not  fallen  entirely  into  disuse  in  the 
seventeenth  century,  as  a  few  examples  from  the  Sec 
ond  Edition  of  Mrs.  Bradstreet' s  poems  will  show; 
the  first  line  of  each  couplet  gives  normal  typogra 
phy,  the  second  as  Mr.  Foster  printed  it. 

He  peerM,  and  por'd,  and  glar'd,  and  faid,  for  wore, 
He  peer'd,  and  por'd,  &  glar'd,  &  faid  for  wore, 

(page  v) 

Earth,  thou  haft  not  moe  countrys,  vales,  and  mounds 
Earth  thou  haft  not  moe  countrys  vales  &  mounds 

(page  1 6) 

Laughter  (though  thou  fay  malice)  flows  from  hence, 
Laughter  (tho  thou  fay  malice)  flows  from  hence, 

(page  36) 

Now  up,  now  down,  now  chief,  and  then  brought 

under. 
Now  up  now  down  now  chief,  &  then  broght  under, 

(page  184) 


Introductory  xxxix 

And  fmote  thofe  feet,  thofe  legs,  thofe  arms,  and  thighs, 
and  fmote  thofe  feet  thofe  legs,  thofe  arms  &  thighs 

(page  185) 

Foster's  fonts  of  type  were  not  large.  At  certain 
points  in  each  signature  he  ran  out  of  various  sorts: 
hence  we  frequently  find  VV  for  W,  although  the 
latter  was  in  abundance  in  pages  immediately  preced 
ing;  italic  instead  of  roman  marks  of  punctuation,  as, 
.-  /  ?;  and  upturned  commas  in  place  of  apostrophes, 
as,  "o'er,"  "called," — not  in  isolated  cases,  but  in 
patches  of  some  extent  which  leave  no  doubt  of  the  rea 
son  for  their  being.  In  one  place  capital  I  is  replaced 
by  lower  case  i,  and  at  another  point  by  lower  case  1, 
in  such  a  way  as  to  appear  intentional  because  he  had 
not  enough  of  the  capitals.  Although  the  apostrophe 
was  used  on  every  page  to  show  elision  of  letters,  as, 
"ne'er,"  "you'll,"  "auth'ress,"  there  is  no  in 
stance  of  its  use  to  indicate  the  possessive  case,  as, 
"Authors  wit,"  "womans  wrath,"  "  Chaucers 
boots."  Capitals  were  used  very  profusely,  and 
without  method;  on  some  pages  few  appear,  on 
others  nearly  all  nouns  are  headed  with  them.  A 
specimen  line  is  this: 

*   His  Suit  of  Crimson  and  his  scarfe  of  green" 

(page  44) 


SEVERAL 

POEMS 

Compiled  wich  great  Variety  of  WIT  and  LE  ARN- 
ING,  full  of  DELIGHT  5 

Wherein  efpecially  is  contained,   a  compleat  Difcourfe  atid 
Description  of 

E  L  E  M  E.N  TS, 

TK*  cu,      )    CONSTITUTIONS, 
The  Four    <     AcE$of  MAN, 

S  E  A  s  o  N  s  of  the  Year. 

Together  with  an  exa&  EP  ITOMS    of  the  three  firft 
MONARCHIES,  *;z.  the 

A S  S  TR  IAN,      ROMAN  COMMON 

PERSIAN,  VVB4LTH    from  its  begin- 

.  _.       %r  gtng,    to  the  End  of  their 

GRECIAN,  and    faft  k  i  KG. 

Wich  divers  other  pleafant  and  ferious POEMS, 
By  a  GENTLEWOMAN  in  New-England, 

The  THIRD  EDITION,  correflcd  by  the  Author, 
and  enlarged  by  an  Addition  of  feverat  other 
POEMS  found  among/I  bet  Papers  after  her 
Death. 

Re-printed  from  the  feeond  Edition,  in  the  Year 
;  .M.DCC.LVIH. 

TITLE-PAGE   OF  THE  THIRD    EDITION. 

SIZE    OF    THE    ORIGINAL. 


v 


Introductory  xli 

The  THIRD  EDITION  was  printed  also  at 
Boston,  in  1758.  The  names  of  the  publisher  and 
printer  are  not  known.  It  was  a  reprint  from  the 
second  edition,  though  by  a  simple  change  in  the 
title-page  the  impression  is  given  that  Mrs.  Brad- 
street  was  responsible  for  the  numerous  corrections 
of  spelling  and  capitalization  and  other  improve 
ments  found  therein.  Of  course  the  Third  Edition 
was  not  ''corrected  by  the  Author."  The  types  in 
this  edition  were  more  accurately  composed  than  in 
either  of  those  preceding. 


The  FOURTH  EDITION  was  printed  at  Cam 
bridge  in  1867  for  Abram  E.  Cutter,  of  Charles- 
town,  under  the  supervision  of  John  Harvard  Ellis, 
of  Boston.  Mr.  Ellis  was  most  painstaking  in  his 
labors;  his  researches  were  original  and  extensive,  his 
references  authoritative,  and  his  notes  helpful.  He 
included  a  quantity  of  material  not  in  the  other  edi+ 
tions, —  undoubtedly  the  remainder  of  that  which  was 
found  among  Mrs.  Bradstreet's  papers  after  her  death, 
and  which  "  she  never  meant  should  come  to  public 
view." 

There  is  ground  for  but  one  difference  of  opinion 
with  Mr.  Ellis.  He  reprinted  the  writings  of  Mrs. 
Bradstreet  after  the  Second  Edition,  retaining  care 
fully  all  its  wretched  spelling,  confusing  punctuation, 


THE  WORKS  OF 


nn* 


IN     PROSE    AND    VERSE 


EDITED    BY 


JOHN  HARVARD  ELLIS 


ABRAM     E.    CUTTER 

.867 


TITLE-PAGE  OF  THE  FOURTH  EDITION. 

REDUCED    SIZE. 


Introductory  xliii 

unmethodical  capitalization,  and  even  its  typographi 
cal  errors!  The  Second  Edition  was  replete  with 
unintentional  errors,  mere  results  of  carelessness  on 
the  part  of  the  printer;  as,  "Is  is  possible?"  for 
"  Is  it  possible  ? "  "  Snrdanapal  "  for  "  Sardanapal," 
"tortnr'd"  for  "tortur'd,"  "Persian"  for  "Per 
sian,"  "feblee"  for  "feeble,"  "  strenght "  for 
"strength,"  and  so  ad  finem.  Mr.  Ellis  scrupu 
lously  reproduced  these  plain  misprints.  He  even 
inserted  a  roman  letter  in  an  italic  word  on  the  same 
authority,  thus,  "  New-England"  •  and  as  to  the  in 
dications  of  a  small  font  heretofore  described,  such  as 
the  use  of  VV  for  W,  italic  punctuation  marks  for 
roman,  upturned  commas  for  apostrophes,  lower  case 
i  and  1  for  capital  I, —  in  all  these,  mirabile  dictu,  the 
Fourth  Edition  followed  its  leader. 


This  seems  unreasonable,  and  The  Duodecimos,  in 
preparing  the  FIFTH  EDITION,  determined  to 
print  these  writings  of  the  first  American  poet  as 
though  they  had  never  been  printed  before.  They 
here  offer  a  volume  in  which  the  orthography,  espe 
cially  of  proper  names,  has  been  carefully  modernized, 
in  which  evident  printers'  errors  have  been  corrected, 
and  a  few  trifling  alterations  made  to  avoid  perpetu 
ating  instances  of  unnecessarily  bad  grammar, —  de 
fects  which  can  add  no  value  to  a  new  edition,  but 


xliv        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

which  obscure  such  meaning  as  the  lines  may  contain. 
As  a  rule,  elided  letters  have  been  supplied  in  words 
like  "hind'ring,"  "  heav'n,"  "to  V  and  "thy 
in  accordance  with  general  modern  usage.  The 
reader  will  understand  that  the  meter  requires  the 
slurred  pronunciation  formerly  indicated  by  the  apos 
trophe. 

For  permission  to  use  the  portraits  and  other  illus 
trations  included  in  this  volume  the  especial  thanks 
of  The  Duodecimos  are  extended  to  the  Common 
wealth  of  Massachusetts ;  the  American  Antiquarian 
Society,  Worcester,  Mass.,  which  also  kindly  placed 
in  the  hands  of  the  Publication  Committee  for  com 
parison  its  perfect  copy  of  the  rare  Second  Edition 
of  Mrs.  Bradstreet' s  poems ;  the  Lenox  Library, 
New  York  ;  Prof.  Charles  Eliot  Norton,  Cambridge, 
Mass.;  Mr.  Dudley  R.  Child,  Boston,  Mass.;  and 
Mr.  Hollis  R.  Bailey,  of  Boston.  To  very  many 
other  gentlemen  grateful  acknowledgment  of  their 
interest  is  hereby  expressed. 

FRANK  E.   HOPKINS, 
For  the  Publication  Committee. 


ERRATA. 

"  read  « 

lsileant." 


Page  212,  line  10,  for  "coats"  read  "cotes, 
Page  287,  line  7,  for  "Jileant"  read  «« sileant 


[The  poems  following  to  page  287  inclusive  are 
reprinted  from  the  Second  Edition,  1678,  of  the  writ 
ings  of  Mrs.  Bradstreet.  The  facsimile  of  the  title- 
page  of  that  edition,  printed  on  page  xxxvii  of  this 
volume,  is  repeated  in  this  connection  as  part  of  the 
text.] 


SEVERAL 

IP  OEMS 

Compiled  with  great  variety  of  Wit  and 

Learning,  full  of  Delight. 

Wherein  efpecially  is  contained  a  compleat 

Difcourfe,  and  Defcription  of 

(     ELEMENTS 

TheFour    J    ^STiTUTlONS, 
^    AGES  of  Man, 
(    SEASONSoftheYear. 
Together  with  an  exact  Epitome  of 
the  three  firft  Monarches 

C     ASSYRIAN, 
T^.  The     }     PERSIAN, 
{    GRECIAN. 

And  beginning  of  tht  Romane  Common-wealth 
to  the  end  of  their  lafr  King  : 

With  diverfe  other  pleafant  &  ferious  Poems$ 
By  a  Gentlewoman  in  New-England.        <&> 

The  fecond  Edit  inn )  Correfted  by  the  Author* 
and  enlarged  by  an  Addition  of  fiver  at  other 
2  oemt  found  among  ft  her  Papers 

after  her  Death.* 

Boftott,  Printed  by  John  Fofler,  1678. 


FACSIMILE  OF  THE   TITLE-PAGE  OF  THE 
SECOND   EDITION. 


KIND  READER: 

Had  I  opportunity  but  to  borrow  some  of  the 
Author's  wit,  't  is  possible  I  might  so  trim  this  curi 
ous  work  with  such  quaint  expressions  as  that  the 
preface  might  bespeak  thy  further  perusal;  but  I  fear 
't  will  be  a  shame  for  a  man  that  can  speak  so  little 
to  be  seen  in  the  title-page  of  this  woman's  book, 
lest  by  comparing  the  one  with  the  other  the  reader 
should  pass  his  sentence  that  it  is  the  gift  of  women 
not  only  to  speak  most  but  to  speak  best.  I  shall  leave 
therefore  to  commend  that  which  with  any  ingenuous 
reader  will  too  much  commend  the  Author,  unless 
men  turn  more  peevish  than  women,  to  envy  the  ex 
cellency  of  the  inferior  sex.  I  doubt  not  but  the 
reader  will  quickly  find  more  than  I  can  say,  and  the 
worst  effeft  of  his  reading  will  be  unbelief,  which  will 
make  him  question  whether  it  be  a  woman's  work, 
and  ask,  Is  it  possible  ?  If  any  do,  take  this  as  an  an 
swer  from  him  that  dares  avow  it:  It  is  the  work  of 
a  woman,  honored  and  esteemed  where  she  lives  for 
her  gracious  demeanor,  her  eminent  parts,  her  pious 
conversation,  her  courteous  disposition,  her  exaft 
diligence  in  her  place,  and  discreet  managing  of  her 

3 


4  To  the  Reader 

family  occasions;  and  more  than  so,  these  poems  are 
the  fruit  of  but  some  few  hours  curtailed  from  her 
sleep  and  other  refreshments.  I  dare  add  little  lest 
I  keep  thee  too  long.  If  thou  wilt  not  believe  the 
worth  of  these  things  in  their  kind  when  a  man 
says  it,  yet  believe  it  from  a  woman  when  thou  seest 
it.  This  only  I  shall  annex:  I  fear  the  displeasure  of 
no  person  in  the  publishing  of  these  poems  but  the 
Author,  without  whose  knowledge,  and  contrary  to  her 
expectation,  I  have  presumed  to  bring  to  public  view 
what  she  resolved  in  such  a  manner  should  never  see 
the  sun;  but  I  found  that  divers  had  gotten  some  scat 
tered  papers,  affefted  them  well,  were  likely  to  have 
sent  forth  broken  pieces  to  the  Author's  prejudice, 
which  I  thought  to  prevent,  as  well  as  to  pleasure 
those  that  earnestly  desired  the  view  of  the  whole. 


Mercury  showed  Apollo  Bartas'  book, 

Minerva  this,  and  wished  him  well  to  look 

And  tell  uprightly  which  did  which  excel. 

He  viewed  and  viewed,  and  vowed  he  could  not  tell. 

They  bid  him  hemisphere  his  moldy  nose 

With  his  cracked  leering  glasses,  for  it  would  pose 

The  best  brains  he  had  in  his  old  pudding-pan, 

Sex  weighed,  which  best  —  the  woman,  or  the  man? 

He  peered,  and  pored,  and  glared,  and  said,  forwore, 

"  I  'm  e'en  as  wise  now  as  I  was  before.'' 

They  both  'gan  laugh,  and  said  it  was  no  mar'l, 

The  Authoress  was  a  right  Du  Bartas  girl. 

"  Good  sooth!"  quoth  the  old  Don,  "tell  ye  me  so? 

I  muse  whither  at  length  these  girls  will  go. 

It  half  revives  my  chill  frost-bitten  blood 

To  see  a  woman  once  do  aught  that  's  good; 

And  chode  by  Chaucer's  boots  and  Homer's  furs, 

Let  men  look  to  it  lest  women  wear  the  spurs. 

N.  WARD. 


IA 


TO  MY  DEAR  SISTER, 
THE  AUTHOR  OF  THESE  POEMS. 

Though  most  that  know  me  dare,  I  think,  affirm 

I  ne'er  was  born  to  do  a  poet  harm, 

Yet  when  I  read  your  pleasant  witty  strains 

It  wrought  so  strongly  on  my  addle  brains 

That  though  my  verse  be  not  so  finely  spun, 

And  so  like  yours  cannot  so  neatly  run, 

Yet  am  I  willing,  with  upright  intent, 

To  show  my  love  without  a  compliment. 

There  needs  no  painting  to  that  comely  face 

That  in  its  native  beauty  hath  such  grace. 

What  I,  poor  silly  I,  prefix,  therefore, 

Can  but  do  this,  make  yours  admired  the  more; 

And  if  but  only  this,  I  do  attain 

Content  that  my  disgrace  may  be  your  gain. 

If  women  I  with  women  may  compare, 
Your  works  are  solid,  others'  weak  as  air. 
Some  books  of  women  I  have  heard  of  late, 
Perused  some,  so  witless,  intricate, 
So  void  of  sense  and  truth  as  if  to  err 
Were  only  wished,  a&ing  above  their  sphere; 
6 


To  My  Dear  Sister  Y| 

And  all  to  get  what,  silly  souls,  they  lack — 
Esteem  to  be  the  wisest  of  the  pack. 
Though,  for  your  sake,  to  some  this  be  permitted 
To  print,  yet  wish  I  many  better  witted; 
Their  vanity  makes  this  to  be  inquired, 
If  women  are  with  wit  and  sense  inspired. 
Yet  when  your  works  shall  come  to  public  view, 
'T  will  be  affirmed,  't  will  be  confirmed,  by  you. 
And  I,  when  seriously  I  had  revolved 
What  you  had  done,  I  presently  resolved 
Theirs  was  the  persons',  not  the  sex's,  failing, 
And  therefore  did  bespeak  a  modest  vailing. 
You  have  acutely,  in  Eliza's  ditty, 
Acquitted  women,  else  I  might  with  pity 
Have  wished  them  all  to  women's  works  to  look, 
And  never  more  to  meddle  with  their  book. 
What  you  have  done  the  sun  shall  witness  bear 
That  for  a  woman's  work  't  is  very  rare; 
And  if  the  Nine  vouchsafe  the  Tenth  a  place, 
I  think  they  rightly  may  yield  you  that  grace. 
But  lest  I  should  exceed,  and  too  much  love 
Should  too  too  much  endeared  affection  move 
To  superadd  in  praises,  I  shall  cease, 
Lest  while  I  please  myself  I  should  displease 
The  longing  reader,  who  may  chance  complain, 
And  so  requite  my  love  with  deep  disdain, 
That  I,  your  silly  servant,  stand  in  the  porch, 
Lighting  your  sunlight  with  my  blinking  torch; 


8  To  My  Dear  Sister 

Hindering  his  mind's  content,  his  sweet  repose, 

Which  your  delightful  poems  do  disclose 

When  once  the  casket 's  opened.      Yet  to  you 

Let  this  be  added,  then  I  '11  bid  adieu: 

If  you  shall  think  it  will  be  to  your  shame 

To  be  in  print,  then  I  must  bear  the  blame. 

If  it  be  a  fault,  't  is  mine;  't  is  shame  that  might 

Deny  so  fair  an  infant  of  its  right 

To  look  abroad.      I  know  your  modest  mind: 

How  you  will  blush,  complain  't  is  too  unkind 

To  force  a  woman's  birth,  provoke  her  pain, 

Expose  her  labors  to  the  world's  disdain. 

I  know  you  '11  say  you  do  defy  that  mint 

That  stamped  you  thus  to  be  a  fool  in  print. 

'T  is  true,  it  doth  not  now  so  neatly  stand 

As  if 't  were  polished  with  your  own  sweet  hand; 

'T  is  not  so  richly  decked,  so  trimly  attired; 

Yet  it  is  such  as  justly  is  admired. 

If  it  be  folly,  't  is  of  both  or  neither: 

Both  you  and  I,  we  '11  both  be  fools  together; 

And  he  that  says  't  is  foolish,,  if  my  word 

May  sway,  by  my  consent  shall  make  the  third. 

I  dare  outface  the  world's  disdain  for  both 

If  you  alone  profess  you  are  not  wroth. 

Yet,  if  you  are,  a  woman's  wrath  is  little 

When  thousands  else  admire  you  in  each  tittle. 

I.  W. 


Upon  the  Author  yi 

UPON   THE   AUTHOR. 
BY   A   KNOWN    FRIEND. 

Now  I  believe  tradition,  which  doth  call 
The  Muses,  Virtues,  Graces,  females  all; 
Only  they  are  not  nine,  eleven,  nor  three  — 
Our  Authoress  proves  them  but  one  unity. 
Mankind,  take  up  some  blushes  on  the  score; 
Monopolize  perfection  no  more; 
In  your  own  arts  confess  yourselves  outdone: 
The  moon  hath  totally  eclipsed  the  sun  — 
Not  with  her  sable  mantle  muffling  him, 
But  her  bright  silver  makes  his  gold  look  dim: 
Just  as  his  beams  force  our  pale  lamps  to  wink, 
And  earthly  fires  within  their  ashes  shrink. 

B.  W. 


I  cannot  wonder  at  Apollo  now, 
That  he  with  female  laurel  crowned  his  brow: 
That  made  him  witty!     Had  I  leave  to  chpose, 
My  verse  should  be  a  page  unto  your  Muse. 

C.  B. 


io  In  Praise  of  the  Author 

IN  PRAISE  OF  THE  AUTHOR,  MISTRESS 
ANNE  BRADSTREET,  VIRTUE'S  TRUE 
AND  LIVELY  PATTERN,  WIFE  OF  THE 
WORSHIPFUL  SIMON  BRADSTREET, 
ESQ.;  AT  PRESENT  RESIDING  IN  THE 
OCCIDENTAL  PARTS  OF  THE  WORLD 
IN  AMERICA,  ALIAS  NOVA-ANGLIA. 

What  golden  splendent  star  is  this  so  bright, 
One  thousand  miles  twice  told,  both  day  and  night, 
From  the  orient  first  sprung,  now  from  the  west 
That  shines,  swift- winged  Phoebus  and  the  rest 
Of  all  Jove's  fiery  flames  surmounting  far 
As  doth  each  planet  every  falling  star?  — 
By  whose  divine  and  lucid  light  most  clear 
Nature's  dark  secret  mysteries  appear, 
Heaven's,  earth's,  admired  wonders,  noble  adls 
Of  kings  and  princes,  most  heroic  fa£ts, 
And  whate'er  else  in  darkness  seemed  to  die; 
Revives  all  things  so  obvious  now  to  the  eye 
That  he  who  these  its  glittering  rays  views  o'er 
Shall  see  what  was  done  in  all  the  world  before. 

N.  H. 


Upon  the  Author  1 1 

UPON    THE   AUTHOR. 

'T  were  extreme  folly  should  I  dare  attempt 

To  praise  this  Author's  worth  with  compliment. 

None  but  herself  must  dare  commend  her  parts 

Whose  sublime  brain's  the  synopsis  of  arts. 

Nature  and  skill  here  both  in  one  agree 

To  frame  this  masterpiece  of  poetry. 

False  Fame,  belie  their  sex  no  more.      It  can 

Surpass,  or  parallel,  the  best  of  man.  0    D 

Lx.   b. 

ANOTHER  TO  MRS.  ANNE  BRADSTREET, 
AUTHOR    OF    THIS    POEM. 

I  've  read  your  poem,  lady,  and  admire 
Your  sex  to  such  a  pitch  should  e'er  aspire. 
Go  on  to  write;  continue  to  relate 
New  histories  of  monarchy  and  state; 
And  what  the  Romans  to  their  poets  gave 
Be  sure  such  honor  and  esteem  you  '11  have. 

H.  S. 
AN   ANAGRAM. 

Anna  Eradestreate.       Deer  neat  An  Bartas. 

So  Bartas-like  thy  fine  spun  poems  been, 
That  Bartas'  name  will  prove  an  epicene. 

ANOTHER. 

Anne  Bradstreate.  Artes  bred  neat  An. 


1 2  Upon  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

UPON    MRS.  ANNE   BRADSTREET, 
HER    POEMS,   ETC. 

Madam,  twice  through  the  Muses'  grove  I  walked; 

Under  your  blissful  bowers  I  shrouding  there, 

It  seemed  with  nymphs  of  Helicon  I  talked, 

For  there  those  sweet-lipped  Sisters  sporting  were. 

Apollo  with  his  sacred  lute  sat  by. 

On  high  they  made  their  heavenly  sonnets  fly, 

Posies  around  they  strewed  of  sweetest  poesy. 

Twice  have  I  drunk  the  neftar  of  your  lines, 
Which  high  sublimed  my  mean-born  phantasy. 
Flushed  with  these  streams  of  your  Maronean  wines, 
Above  myself  rapt  to  an  ecstasy, 
Methought  I  was  upon  Mount  Hybla's  top, 
There  where  I  might  those  fragrant  flowers  lop 
Whence  do  sweet  odors  flow  and  honey-spangles  drop. 

To  Venus'  shrine  no  altars  raised  are, 

Nor  venomed  shafts  from  painted  quiver  fly; 

Nor  wanton  doves  of  Aphrodite's  car 

Are  fluttering  there,  nor  here  forlornly  lie 

Lorn  paramours;  nor  chatting  birds  tell  news 

How  sage  Apollo  Daphne  hot  pursues, 

Or  stately  Jove  himself  is  wont  to  haunt  the  stews. 

Nor  barking  satyrs  breathe,  nor  dreary  clouds, 
Exhaled  from  Styx,  their  dismal  drops  distil 


Upon  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet  1 3 

Within  these  fairy  flowery  fields,  nor  shrouds 
The  screeching  night-raven  with  his  shady  quill; 
But  lyric  strings  here  Orpheus  nimbly  hits, 
Arion  on  his  saddled  dolphin  sits, 
Chanting  as  every  humor,  age,  and  season  fits. 

Here  silver  swans  with  nightingales  set  spells 
Which  sweetly  charm  the  traveler,  and  raise 
Earth's  earthed  monarchs  from  their  hidden  cells, 
And  to  appearance  summon  lapsed  days. 
There  heavenly  air  becalms  the  swelling  frays, 
And  fury  fell  of  elements  allays 
By  paying  every  one  due  tribute  of  his  praise. 

This  seemed  the  site  of  all  those  verdant  vales 
And  purle'd  springs  whereat  the  nymphs  do  play, 
With  lofty  hills  where  poets  rear  their  tales 
To  heavenly  vaults  which  heavenly  sound  repay 
By  echo's  sweet  rebound.      Here  ladies  kiss, 
Circling,  nor  songs,  nor  dance's  circle  miss; 
But  whilst  those  sirens  sung,  I  sunk  in  sea  of  bliss. 

Thus  weltering  in  delight,  my  virgin  mind 

Admits  a  rape;  truth  still  lies  undescried. 

It  's  singular  that  plural  seemed,  I  find; 

'T  was  Fancy's  glass  alone  that  multiplied; 

Nature  with  Art  so  closely  did  combine, 

I  thought  I  saw  the  Muses'  treble  trine, 

Which  proved  your  lonely  Muse  superior  to  the  Nine. 


14  Upon  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Your  only  hand  those  poesies  did  compose; 

Your  head  the  source  whence  all  those  springs  did  flow; 

Your  voice  whence  change's  sweetest  notes  arose, 

Your  feet  that  kept  the  dance  alone,  I  trow. 

Then  vail  your  bonnets,  poetasters  all, 

Strike  lower  amain,  and  at  these  humbly  fall, 

And  deem  yourselves  advanced  to  be  her  pedestal. 

Should  all  with  lowly  congees  laurels  bring, 
Waste  Flora's  magazine  to  find  a  wreath, 
Or  Peneus'  banks,  't  were  too  mean  offering. 
Your  Muse  a  fairer  garland  doth  bequeath 
To  guard  your  fairer  front:  here  't  is  your  name 
Shall  stand  emmarbled;  this  your  little  frame 
Shall  great  colossus  be,  to  your  eternal  fame. 

I  '11  please  myself,  though  I  myself  disgrace. 
What  errors  here  be  found  are  in  Errata's  place. 

J.  ROGERS. 


TO   HER   MOST   HONORED    FATHER 

THOMAS   DUDLEY,    ESQ., 
THESE   HUMBLY   PRESENTED. 

Dear  Sir,  of  late  delighted  with  the  sight    fT.D.  On 
Of  your  four  Sisters  clothed  in  black  and  I  the  Four 
white,  |    Parts  of 

Of  fairer  dames  the  sun  ne'er  saw  the  face,  \tbeWorld. 
Though  made  a  pedestal  for  Adam's  race. 
Their  worth  so  shines  in  these  rich  lines  you  show, 
Their  parallels  to  find  I  scarcely  know. 
To  climb  their  climes  I  have  nor  strength  nor  skill; 
To  mount  so  high  requires  an  eagle's  quill. 
Yet  view  thereof  did  cause  my  thoughts  to  soar  — 
My  lowly  pen  might  wait  upon  these  four! 
I  bring  my  four  times  four,  now  meanly  clad, 
To  do  their  homage  unto  yours,  full  glad: 
Who  for  their  age,  their  worth,  and  quality 
Might  seem  of  yours  to  claim  precedency: 
But  by  my  humble  hand  thus  rudely  penned, 
They  are  your  bounden  handmaids  to  attend. 
These  same  are  they  from  whom  we  being  have; 
These  are  of  all  the  life,  the  nurse,  the  grave; 
These  are  the  hot,  the  cold,  the  moist,  the  dry, 
That  sink,  that  swim,  that  fill,  that  upwards  fly; 
15 


1 6          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Brads treet 

Of  these  consist  our  bodies,  clothes,  and  food, 
The  world,  the  useful,  hurtful,  and  the  good. 
Sweet  harmony  they  keep,  yet  jar  ofttimes  — 
Their  discord  doth  appear  by  these  harsh  rhymes. 
Yours  did  contest  for  wealth,  for  arts,  for  age; 
My  first  do  show  their  good,  and  then  their  rage. 
My  other  Fours  do  intermixed  tell 
Each  other's  faults,  and  where  themselves  excel; 
How  hot  and  dry  contend  with  moist  and  cold, 
How  air  and  earth  no  correspondence  hold, 
And  yet,  in  equal  tempers,  how  they  agree, 
How  divers  natures  make  one  unity. 
Something  of  all,  though  mean,  I  did  intend, 
But  feared  you  'd  judge  Du  Bartas  was  my  friend. 
I  honor  him,  but  dare  not  wear  his  wealth. 
My  goods  are  true,  though  poor;  I  love  no  stealth; 
But  if  I  did  I  durst  not  send  them  you, 
Who  must  reward  a  thief  but  with  his  due. 
I  shall  not  need  mine  innocence  to  clear: 
These  ragged  lines  will  do  it  when  they  appear. 
On  what  they  are,  your  mild  aspecl:  I  crave; 
Accept  my  best,  my  worst  vouchsafe  a  grave. 

From  her  that  to  yourself  more  duty  owes 
Than  water  in  the  boundless  ocean  flows. 

March  20,  1642. 

ANNE   BRADSTREET. 


THE   PROLOGUE. 

To  sing  of  wars,  of  captains,  and  of  kings, 

Of  cities  founded,  commonwealths  begun, 

For  my  mean  pen  are  too  superior  things: 

Or  how  they  all,  or  each,  their  dates  have  run; 

Let  poets  and  historians  set  these  forth, 

My  obscure  lines  shall  not  so  dim  their  worth. 

But  when  my  wondering  eyes  and  envious  heart 
Qreat  Bartas'  sujgred  lines  do  but  read  o'er, 
FoolTcfo  grudge  the  Muses  did  not  part 
'Twixt  him  and  me  that  overfluent  store; — 
A  Bartas  can  do  what  a  Bartas  will, 
But  simple  I  according  to  my  skill. 

From  school-boys'  tongues  no  rhetoric  we  expert, 
Nor  yet  a  sweet  consort  from  broken  strings, 
Nor  perfeft  beauty  where  's  a  main  defeft: 
My  foolish,  broken,  blemished  Muse  so  sings; 
And  this  to  mend,  alas,  no  art  is  able, 
'Cause  nature  made  it  so,  irreparable. 

Nor  can  I,  like  that  fluent,  sweet-tongued  Greek 
Who, lisped  at  first,  in  future  times  speak  plain; 
By  art  he  gladly  found  what  he  did  seek  — 
A  full  requital  of  his  striving  pain. 

2  17 


1 8          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Art  can  do  much,  but  this  maxim  's  most  sure: 
A  weak  or  wounded  brain  admits  no  cure. 

I  am  obnoxious  to  each  carping  tongue 

Who  says  my  hand  a  needle  better  fits. 

A  poet's  pen  all  scorn  I  should  thus  wrong; 

For  such  despite  they  cast  on  female  wits, 

If  what  I  do  prove  well,  it  won't  advance  — 

They  '11  say  it  's  stolen,  or  else  it  was  by  chance. 

But  sure  the  antique  Greeks  were  far  more  mild, 
Else  of  our  sex  why  feigned  they  those  Nine, 
And  Poesy  made  Calliope's  own  child? 
So  'mongst  the  rest  they  placed  the  Arts  Divine. 
But  this  weak  knot  they  will  full  soon  untie  — 
s  The  Greeks  did  naught  but  play  the  fools  and  lie. 

Let  Greeks  be  Greeks,  and  women  what  they  are. 

Men  have  precedency,  and  still  excel. 

It  is  but  vain  unjustly  to  wage  war: 

Men  can  do  best,  and  women  know  it  well. 

Preeminence  in  all  and  each  is  yours  — 

Yet  grant  some  small  acknowledgment  of  ours. 

And  oh,  ye  high  flown  quills  that  soar  the  skies, 
And  ever  with  your  prey  still  catch  your  praise, 
If  e'er  you  deign  these  lowly  lines  your  eyes, 
Give  thyme  or  parsley  wreath;  I  ask  no  bays. 
This  mean  and  unrefined  ore  of  mine 
Will  make  your  glistering  gold  but  more  to  shine. 


hi** 


«*£>  **  «7**S7  **  «ST««ig>  *  «S*«ig»  **  S^^JJ  **.  RVtiy 

brfxfe.«»«ite<fod!»<fe^dv^ 


THE   FOUR    ELEMENTS. 

The  Fire,  Air,  Earth,  and  Water  did  contest 

Which  was  the  strongest,  noblest,  and  the  best; 

Who  was  of  greatest  use  and  mightiest  force. 

In  placid  terms  they  thought  now  to  discourse, 

That  in  due  order  each  her  turn  should  speak. 

But  enmity  this  amity  did  break:      "• 

All  would  be  chief,  and  all  scorned  to  be  under; 

Whence  issued  winds  and  rains,  lightning  and  thunder; 

The  quaking  earth  did  groan,  the  sky  looked  black, 

The  fire  the  forced  air  in  sunder  crack; 

The  sea  did  threat  the  heavens,  the  heavens  the  earth; 

All  looked  like  a  chaos,  or  new  birth. 

Fire  broiled  earth,  and  scorched  earth  it  choked; 

Both,  by  their  darings,  water  so  provoked 

That  roaring  in  it  came,  and  with  its  source 

Soon  made  the  combatants  abate  their  force. 

The  rumbling,  hissing,  puffing,  was  so  great 

The  world's  confusion  it  did  seem  to  threat; 

Till  gentle  Air  contention  so  abated 

That  betwixt  hot  and  cold  she  arbitrated. 


19 


2O          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

The  others'  difference,  being  less,  did  cease, 
All  storms  now  laid,  and  they  in  perfect  peace. 
That  Fire  should  first  begin  the  rest  consent, 
The  noblest  and  most  aftive  element. 

FIRE. 

"What  is  my  worth  both  ye  and  all  men  know. 
In  little  time  I  can  but  little  show. 
But  what  I  am,  let  learned  Grecians  say; 
What  I  can  do,  well-skilled  mechanics  may; 
The  benefit  all  living  by  me  find, 
All  sorts  of  artists  here  declare  your  mind. 
What  tool  was  ever  framed  but  by  my  might? 
Ye  martialists,  what  weapons  for  your  fight, 
To  try  your  valor  by,  but  it  must  feel 
My  force? — your  sword,  and  gun,  your  lance  of  steel. 
Your  cannon  's  bootless,  and  your  powder,  too, 
Without  mine  aid.      Alas,  what  can  they  do  — 
The  adverse  wall 's  not  shaked,  the  mine  's  not  blown, 
And  in  despite  the  city  keeps  her  own. 
But  I  with  one  granado  or  petard 
Set  ope  those  gates  that  'fore  so  strong  were  barred. 
Ye  husbandmen,  your  coulters  're  made  by  me, 
Your  hoes,  your  mattocks,  and  whate'er  you  see 
Subdue  the  earth,  and  fit  it  for  your  grain, 
That  so  it  might  in  time  requite  your  pain; 
Though  strong-limbed  Vulcan  forged  it  by  his  skill, 
I  made  it  flexible  unto  his  will. 


The  Four  Elements  21 

Ye  cooks,  your  kitchen  implements  I  frame, 

Your  spits,  pots,  jacks,  what  else  I  need  not  name; 

Your  daily  food  I  wholesome  make;  I  warm 

Your  shrinking  limbs,  which  winter's  cold  doth  harm. 

Ye  Paracelsians,  too,  in  vain  *s  your  skill 

In  chemistry  unless  I  help  you  still. 

And  you,  philosophers,  if  e'er  you  made 

A  transmutation  it  was  through  mine  aid. 

Ye  silversmiths,  your  ore  I  do  refine; 

What  mingled  lay  with  earth  I  cause  to  shine. 

But  let  me  leave  these  things;  my  flame  aspires 

To  match  on  high  with  the  celestial  fires. 

The  sun  an  orb  of  fire  was  held  of  old; 

Our  sages  now  another  tale  have  told. 

But  be  he  what  they  will,  yet  his  aspedl 

A  burning  fiery  heat  we  find  reflefl; 

And  of  the  self-same  nature  is  with  mine, 

Cold  sister  Earth,  no  witness  needs  but  thine: 

How  doth  his  warmth  refresh  thy  frozen  back, 

And  trim  thee  brave  in  green  after  thy  black! 

Both  man  and  beast  rejoice  at  his  approach, 

And  birds  do  sing  to  see  his  glittering  coach. 

And  though  naught  but  salamanders  live  in  fire, 

And  fly  pyratista  called, — all  else  expire, — 

Yet  men  and  beasts,  astronomers  will  tell, 

Fixed  in  heavenly  constellations  dwell  — 

My  planets  of  both  sexes,  whose  degree 

Poor  heathen  judged  worthy  a  deity. 

2A 


22         The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

There  's  Orion,  armed,  attended  by  his  dog; 

The  Theban,  stout  Alcides,  with  his  club; 

The  valiant  Perseus,  who  Medusa  slew; 

The  horse  that  killed  Bellerophon,  then  flew. 

My  crab,  my  scorpion,  fishes,  you  may  see, 

The  maid  with  balance,  wain  with  horses  three, 

The  ram,  the  bull,  the  lion,  and  the  beagle, 

The  bear,  the  goat,  the  raven,  and  the  eagle, 

The  crown,  the  whale,  the  archer,  Berenice's  hair, 

The  hydra,  dolphin,  boys  that  water  bear; 

Nay,  more  than  these,  rivers  'mongst  stars  are  found  — 

Eridanus,  where  Phaethon  was  drowned. 

Their  magnitude  and  height  should  I  recount, 

My  story  to  a  volume  would  amount. 

Out  of  a  multitude  these  few  I  touch; 

Your  wisdom  out  of  little  gather  much. 

I  '11  here  let  pass  my  choler,  cause  of  wars; 

And  influence  of  divers  of  those  stars, 

When  in  conjunction  with  the  sun,  do  more 

Augment  his  heat  which  was  too  hot  before. 

The  summer  ripening  season  I  do  claim; 

And  man  from  thirty  unto  fifty  frame. 

Of  old,  when  sacrifices  were  divine, 

I  of  acceptance  was  the  holy  sign. 

'Mong  all  my  wonders  which  I  might  recount, 

There '  s  none  more  strange  than  ^Etna'  s  sulph'  ry  mount ; 

The  choking  flames  that  from  Vesuvius  flew 

The  over-curious  Second  Pliny  slew, 


The  Four  Elements  23 

And  with  the  ashes  that  it  sometimes  shed 

Apulia's  'jacent  parts  were  covered. 

And  though  I  be  a  servant  to  each  man, 

Yet,  by  my  force,  master  my  masters  can. 

What  famous  towns  to  cinders  have  I  turned! 

What  lasting  forts  my  kindled  wrath  hath  burned! 

The  stately  seats  of  mighty  kings  by  me 

In  confused  heaps  of  ashes  may  you  see. 

Where  's  Minus'  great  walled  town,  and  Troy  of  old, 

Carthage,  and  hundred  more  in  stories  told? 

Which  when  they  could  not  be  overcome  by  foes, 

The  army,  through  my  help,  victorious  rose. 

And  stately  London,  our  Great  Britain's  glory, 

My  raging  flame  did  make  a  mournful  story; — 

But  maugre  all  that  I  or  foes  could  do, 

That  phenix  from  her  bed  is  risen  new. 

Old  sacred  Zion,  I  demolished  thee; 

Low  great  Diana's  temple  was  by  me; 

And  more  than  bruitish  Sodom  for  her  lust, 

With  neighboring  towns,  I  did  consume  to  dust. 

What  shall  I  say  of  lightning  and  of  thunder, 

Which  kings  and  mighty  ones  amaze  with  wonder, — 

Which  made  a  Csesar  (  Rome' s  ) ,  the  world' s  proud  head, 

Foolish  Caligula,  creep  under  his  bed, — 

Of  meteors,  ignes  fatui,  and  the  rest? 

But  to  leave  those  to  the  wise  I  judge  it  best. 

The  rich  I  oft  make  poor,  the  strong  I  maim, 

Not  sparing  life  when  I  can  take  the  same. 


24         The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

And,  in  a  word,  the  world  I  shall  consume, 
And  all  therein,  at  that  great  day  of  doom; 
Not  before  then  shall  cease  my  raging  ire, 
And  then  because  no  matter  more  for  fire. 
Now,  sisters,  pray  proceed;  each  in  your  course, 
As  I,  impart  your  usefulness  and  force." 

EARTH. 

The  next  in  place  Earth  judged  to  be  her  due. 
"Sister,"  quoth  she,  "I  come  not  short  of  you; 
In  wealth  and  use  I  do  surpass  you  all, 
And  Mother  Earth  of  old  men  did  me  call, 
Such  is  my  fruitfulness — an  epithet 
Which  none  e'er  gave,  or  you  could  claim,  of  right. 
Among  my  praises  this  I  count  not  least, 
I  am  the  original  of  man  and  beast. 
To  tell  what  sundry  fruits  my  fat  soil  yields 
In  vineyards,  gardens,  orchards,  and  corn-fields, 
Their  kinds,  their  tastes,  their  colors,  and  their  smells, 
Would  so  pass  time  I  could  say  nothing  else; 
The  rich,  the  poor,  wise,  fool,  and  every  sort, 
Of  these  so  common  things  can  make  report. 
To  tell  you  of  my  countries  and  my  regions, 
Soon  would  they  pass  not  hundreds  but  legions; 
My  cities  famous,  rich,  and  populous, 
Whose  numbers  now  are  grown  innumerous. 
I  have  not  time  to  think  of  every  part, 
Yet  let  me  name  my  Grecia,  *t  is  my  heart; 


The  Four  Elements  25 

For  learning,  arms,  and  arts  I  love  it  well, 

But  chiefly  'cause  the  Muses  there  did  dwell. 

I  '11  here  skip  o'er  my  mountains  reaching  sky, 

Whether  Pyrenean  or  the  Alps,  which  lie 

On  either  side  the  country  of  the  Gauls, 

Strong  forts  from  Spanish  and  Italian  brawls; 

And  huge  great  Taurus,  longer  than  the  rest, 

Dividing  great  Armenia  from  the  least; 

And  Hemus,  whose  steep  sides  none  foot  upon. 

But  farewell  all  for  dear  Mount  Helicon; 

And  wondrous  high  Olympus,  of  such  fame 

That  heaven  itself  was  oft  called  by  that  name; 

Parnassus  sweet,  I  dote  too  much  on  thee, 

Unless  thou  prove  a  better  friend  to  me. 

But  I  '11  leap  o'er  these  hills,  not  touch  a  dale, 

Nor  will  I  stay,  no,  not  in  Tempe  vale. 

I  '11  here  let  go  my  lions  of  Numidia, 

My  panthers  and  my  leopards  of  Libya, 

The  behemoth,  and  rare  found  unicorn 

(Poison's  sure  antidote  lies  in  his  horn), 

And  my  hyena  (imitates  man's  voice); 

Out  of  great  numbers  I  might  pick  my  choice, 

Thousands  in  woods  and  plains,  both  wild  and  tame. 

But  here  or  there,  I  list  now  none  to  name  — 

No,  though  the  fawning  dog  did  urge  me  sore 

In  his  behalf  to  speak  a  word  the  more, 

Whose  trust  and  valor  I  might  here  commend, 

But  time  's  too  short  and  precious  so  to  spend. 


26         The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Braastreet 

But  hark  you,  wealthy  merchants,  who  for  prize 

Send  forth  your  well-manned  ships  where  sun  doth  rise: 

After  three  years,  when  men  and  meat  are  spent, 

My  rich  commodities  pay  double  rent. 

Ye  Galenists,  my  drugs  that  come  from  thence 

Do  cure  your  patients,  fill  your  purse  with  pence; 

Besides  the  use  of  roots,  of  herbs,  and  plants 

That  with  less  cost  near  home  supply  your  wants. 

But,  mariners,  where  got  you  ship  and  sail, 

And  oars  to  row,  when  both  my  sisters  fail? 

Your  tackling,  anchor,  compass,  too,  is  mine, 

Which  guides  when  sun  nor  moon  nor  stars  do  shine. 

Ye  mighty  kings,  who  for  your  lasting  fames 

Built  cities,  monuments,  called  by  your  names, 

Were  those  compiled  heaps  of  massy  stones 

That  your  ambition  laid  aught  but  my  bones? 

Ye  greedy  misers,  who  do  dig  for  gold, 

For  gems,  for  silver,  treasures  which  I  hold, 

Will  not  my  goodly  face  your  rage  suffice 

But  you  will  see  what  in  my  bowels  lies? 

And  ye  artificers,  all  trades  and  sorts, 

My  bounty  calls  you  forth  to  make  reports 

If  aught  you  have  to  use,  to  wear,  to  eat, 

But  what  I  freely  yield  upon  your  sweat? 

And  choleric  sister,  thou,  for  all  thine  ire, 

Well  knowest  my  fuel  must  maintain  thy  fire; 

As  I  ingenuously  with  thanks  confess, 

My  cold  thy  fruitful  heat  doth  crave  no  less 


The  Four  Elements  27 

But  how  my  cold,  dry  temper  works  upon 

The  melancholy  constitution, 

How  the  autumnal  season  I  do  sway, 

And  how  I  force  the  grayhead  to  obey, 

I  should  here  make  a  short  yet  true  narration, 

But  that  thy  method  is  mine  imitation. 

Now  must  I  show  mine  adverse  quality, 

And  how  I  oft  work  man's  mortality. 

He  sometimes  finds,  maugre  his  toiling  pain, 

Thistles  and  thorns  where  he  expefted  grain; 

My  sap  to  plants  and  trees  I  must  not  grant; 

The  vine,  the  olive,  and  the  fig-tree  want; 

The  corn  and  hay  do  fall  before  they  're  mown; 

And  buds  from  fruitful  trees  as  soon  as  blown. 

Then  dearth  prevails;  that  nature  to  suffice, 

The  mother  on  her  tender  infant  flies; 

The  husband  knows  no  wife,  nor  father  sons, 

But  to  all  outrages  their  hunger  runs. 

Dreadful  examples  soon  I  might  produce, 

But  to  such  auditors  't  were  of  no  use. 

Again,  when  delvers  dare,  in  hope  of  gold, 

To  ope  those  veins  of  mine,  audacious,  bold, 

While  they  thus  in  mine  entrails  love  to  dive, 

Before  they  know  they  are  interred  alive. 

Ye  affrighted  wights  appalled,  how  do  ye  shake 

When  once  you  feel  me,  your  foundation,  quake? — 

Because  in  the  abyss  of  my  dark  womb 

Your  cities  and  your  selves  I  oft  entomb. 


2  8          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

O  dreadful  sepulcher!  that  this  is  true, 

Dathan  and  all  his  company  well  knew; 

So  did  that  Roman,  far  more  stout  than  wise, 

Burying  himself  alive  for  honor's  prize; 

And  since  fair  Italy  full  sadly  knows 

What  she  hath  lost  by  these  remediless  woes. 

Again,  what  veins  of  poison  in  me  lie; 

Some  kill  outright,  and  some  do  stupefy — 

Nay,  into  herbs  and  plants  it  sometimes  creeps, 

In  heats,  and  colds,  and  gripes,  and  drowsy  sleeps. 

Thus  I  occasion  death  to  man  and  beast 

When  food  they  seek  and  harm  mistrust  the  least. 

Much  might  I  say  of  the  hot  Libyan  sand 

Which  rise  like  tumbling  billows  on  the  land 

Wherein  Cambyses'  army  was  overthrown 

(But,  windy  sister,  'twas  when  you  have  blown). 

I  '11  say  no  more;  but  this  thing  add  I  must: 

Remember,  sons,  your  mold  is  of  my  dust; 

And  after  death,  whether  interred  or  burned, 

As  earth  at  first,  so  into  earth  returned." 

WATER. 

Scarce  Earth  had  done,  but  the  angry  Water  moved. 
"Sister,"  quoth  she,  "it  had  full  well  behooved, 
Among  your  boastings,  to  have  praised  me, 
Cause  of  your  fruitfulness,  as  you  shall  see. 
This,  your  negleft,  shows  your  ingratitude, 
And  how  your  subtilty  would  men  delude. 


The  Four  Elements  29 

Not  one  of  us,  all  knows,  that  *s  like  to  thee, 

Ever,  in  craving  from  the  other  three. 

But  thou  art  bound  to  me  above  the  rest, 

Who  am  thy  drink,  thy  blood,  thy  sap,  and  best. 

If  I  withhold,  what  art  thou?     Dead,  dry  lump, 

Thou  bearest  nor  grass,  nor  plant,  nor  tree,  nor  stump. 

Thy  extreme  thirst  is  moistened  by  my  love 

With  springs  below  and  showers  from  above, 

Or  else  thy  sun-burned  face  and  gaping  chops 

Complain  to  the  heavens,  if  I  withhold  my  drops. 

Thy  bear,  thy  tiger,  and  thy  lion  stout, 

When  I  am  gone  their  fierceness  none  needs  doubt; 

Thy  camel  hath  no  strength,  thy  bull  no  force, 

Nor  mettle  's  found  in  the  courageous  horse; 

Hinds  leave  their  calves,  the  elephant  the  fens, 

The  wolves  and  savage  beasts  forsake  their  dens; 

The  lofty  eagle  and  the  stork  fly  low; 

The  peacock  and  the  ostrich  share  in  woe; 

The  pine,  the  cedar,  yea,  and  Daphne's  tree 

Do  cease  to  flourish  in  this  misery. 

Man  wants  his  bread  and  wine,  and  pleasant  fruits; 

He  knows  such  sweets  lie  not  in  Earth's  dry  roots, 

Then  seeks  me  out,  in  river  and  in  well, 

His  deadly  malady  I  might  expel. 

If  I  supply,  his  heart  and  veins  rejoice; 

If  not,  soon  ends  his  life,  as  did  his  voice. 

That  this  is  true,  Earth,  thou  canst  not  deny. 

I  call  thine  Egypt  this  to  verify, 


30          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

Which,  by  my  fatting  Nile,  doth  yield  such  store 

That  she  can  spare  when  nations  round  are  poor; 

When  I  run  low,  and  not  overflow  her  brinks, 

To  meet  with  want  each  woeful  man  bethinks. 

And  such  I  am,  in  rivers,  showers,  and  springs. 

But  what  's  the  wealth  that  my  rich  ocean  brings? — 

Fishes  so  numberless  I  there  do  hold, 

If  thou  shouldst  buy  it  would  exhaust  thy  gold. 

There  lives  the  oily  whale,  whom  all  men  know, — 

Such  wealth,  but  not  such  like,  Earth,  thou  may st  show, — 

The  dolphin,  loving  music,  Arion's  friend, 

The  witty  barbel,  whose  craft  doth  her  commend, 

With  thousands  more  which  now  I  list  not  name, 

Thy  silence  of  thy  beasts  doth  cause  the  same. 

My  pearls  that  dangle  at  thy  darlings'  ears 

Not  thou,  but  shell-fish,  yield,  as  Pliny  clears. 

Was  ever  gem  so  rich  found  in  thy  trunk 

As  Egypt's  wanton  Cleopatra  drunk? 

Or  hast  thou  any  color  can  come  nigh 

The  Roman  purple,  double  Tyrian  dye? — 

Which  Caesar's  consuls,  tribunes,  all  adorn, 

For  it  to  search  my  waves  they  thought  no  scorn. 

Thy  gallant,  rich,  perfuming  ambergris 

I  lightly  cast  ashore  as  frothy  fleece; 

With  rolling  grains  of  purest  massy  gold, 

Which  Spain's  Americas  do  gladly  hold. 

Earth,  thou  hast  not  more  countries,  vales,  and  mounds 

Than  I  have  fountains,  rivers,  lakes,  and  ponds: 


The  Four  Elements  31 

My  sundry  seas,  Black,  White,  and  Adriatic, 
Ionian,  Baltic,  and  the  vast  Atlantic, 
^Egean,  Caspian,  golden  rivers  five, 
Asphaltites  Lake,  where  naught  remains  alive; — 
But  I  should  go  beyond  thee  in  my  boasts 
If  I  should  name  more  seas  than  thou  hast  coasts. 
And  be  thy  mountains  e'er  so  high  and  steep, 
I  soon  can  match  them  with  my  seas  as  deep. 
To  speak  of  kinds  of  waters  I  neglect  — 
My  divers  fountains,  and  their  strange  efFeft; 
My  wholesome  baths,  together  with  their  cures; 
My  water  sirens,  with  their  guileful  lures; 
The  uncertain  cause  of  certain  ebbs  and  flows, 
Which  wondering  Aristotle's  wit  ne'er  knows. 
Nor  will  I  speak  of  waters  made  by  art, 
Which  can  to  life  restore  a  fainting  heart; 
Nor  fruitful  dews;  nor  drops  distilled  from  eyes, 
Which  pity  move,  and  oft  deceive  the  wise; 
Nor  yet  of  salt  and  sugar,  sweet  and  smart — 
Both,  when  we  list,  to  water  we  convert. 
Alas,  thy  ships  and  oars  could  do  no  good 
Did  they  but  want  my  ocean  and  my  flood. 
The  wary  merchant  on  his  weary  beast 
Transfers  his  goods  from  south  to  north  and  east, 
Unless  I  ease  his  toil  and  do  transport 
The  wealthy  freight  unto  his  wished  port. 
These  be  my  benefits,  which  may  suffice. 
I  now  must  show  what  ill  there  in  me  lies. 


3  2          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

The  phlegmy  constitution  I  uphold; 

All  humors,  tumors,  which  are  bred  of  cold. 

O'er  childhood  and  o'er  winter  I  bear  sway, 

And  Luna  for  my  regent  I  obey. 

As  I  with  showers  ofttimes  refresh  the  earth, 

So  oft  in  my  excess  I  cause  a  dearth, 

And  with  abundant  wet  so  cool  the  ground, 

By  adding  cold  to  cold,  no  fruit  proves  sound. 

The  farmer  and  the  grasier  do  complain 

Of  rotten  sheep,  lean  kine,  and  mildewed  grain. 

And  with  my  wasting  floods  and  roaring  torrent 

Their  cattle,  hay,  and  corn  I  sweep  down  current. 

Nay,  many  times  my  ocean  breaks  his  bounds, 

And  with  astonishment  the  world  confounds, 

And  swallows  countries  up,  ne'er  seen  again, 

And  that  an  island  makes  which  once  was  main. 

Thus  Britain  fair,  't  is  thought,  was  cut  from  France; 

Sicily  from  Italy  by  the  like  chance; 

And  but  one  land  was  Africa  and  Spain 

Until  proud  Gibraltar  did  make  them  twain. 

Some  say  I  swallowed  up  (sure  't  is  a  notion) 

A  mighty  country  in  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 

I  need  not  say  much  of  my  hail  and  snow, 

My  ice  and  extreme  cold,  which  all  men  know; 

Whereof  the  first  so  ominous  I  rained 

That  Israel's  enemies  therewith  were  brained; 

And  of  my  chilling  snows  such  plenty  be 

That  Caucasus'  high  mounts  are  seldom  free. 


The  Four  Elements  33 

Mine  ice  doth  glaze  Europe's  great  rivers  o'er; 

Till  sun  release,  their  ships  can  sail  no  more. 

All  know  that  inundations  I  have  made, 

Wherein  not  men,  but  mountains,  seemed  to  wade: 

As  when  Achaia  all  under  water  stood, 

That  for  two  hundred  years  it  ne'er  proved  good; 

Deucalion's  great  deluge,  with  many  more. 

But  these  are  trifles  to  the  flood  of  Noah; 

Then  wholly  perished  earth's  ignoble  race, 

And  to  this  day  impairs  her  beauteous  face. 

That  after  times  shall  never  feel  like  woe, 

Her  confirmed  sons  behold  my  colored  bow. 

Much  might  I  say  of  wrecks;  but  that  I  '11  spare, 

And  now  give  place  unto  our  sister  Air." 

AIR. 

"  Content,"  quoth  Air,  "to  speak  the  last  of  you, 
Yet  am  not  ignorant  first  was  my  due. 
I  do  suppose  you  '11  yield,  without  control, 
I  am  the  breath  of  every  living  soul. 
Mortals,  what  one  of  you  that  loves  not  me 
Abundantly  more  than  my  sisters  three? 
And  though  you  love  Fire,  Earth,  and  Water  well, 
Yet  Air  beyond  all  these  you  know  to  excel. 
I  ask  the  man  condemned,  that 's  near  his  death, 
How  gladly  should  his  gold  purchase  his  breath; 
And  all  the  wealth  that  ever  earth  did  give, 
How  freely  should  it  go,  so  he  might  live. 
3 


34          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

No,  Earth,  thy  witching  trash  were  all  but  vain 

If  my  pure  air  thy  sons  did  not  sustain. 

The  famished,  thirsty  man  that  craves  supply, 

His  moving  reason  is,  Give,  lest  I  die, 

So  loth  he  is  to  go,  though  nature  's  spent, 

To  bid  adieu  to  his  dear  element. 

Nay,  what  are  words,  which  do  reveal  the  mind? — 

Speak  who  or  what  they  will,  they  are  but  wind. 

Your  drums',  your  trumpets',  and  your  organs'  sound, 

What  is  it  but  forced  air  which  doth  rebound? 

And  such  are  echoes,  and  report  of  the  gun 

That  tells  afar  the  exploit  which  it  hath  done. 

Your  songs  and  pleasant  tunes,  they  are  the  same; 

And  so  the  notes  which  nightingales  do  frame. 

Ye  forging  smiths,  if  bellows  once  were  gone 

Your  red-hot  work  more  coldly  would  go  on. 

Ye  mariners,  Jt  is  I  that  fills  your  sails, 

And  speeds  you  to  your  port  with  wished  gales. 

When  burning  heat  doth  cause  you  faint,  I  cool; 

And  when  I  smile,  your  ocean  's  like  a  pool. 

I  help  to  ripe  the  corn,  I  turn  the  mill, 

And  with  myself  I  every  vacuum  fill. 

The  ruddy,  sweet  sanguine  is  like  to  air, 

And  youth  and  spring  sages  to  me  compare. 

My  moist,  hot  nature  is  so  purely  thin, 

No  place  so  subtilely  made  but  I  get  in. 

I  grow  more  pure  and  pure  as  I  mount  higher, 

And  when  I  'm  throughly  rarefied,  turn  fire. 


The  Four  Elements  35 

So,  when  I  am  condensed,  I  turn  to  water, 

Which  may  be  done  by  holding  down  my  vapor; 

Thus  I  another  body  can  assume, 

And  in  a  trice  my  own  nature  resume. 

Some  for  this  cause  of  late  have  been  so  bold 

Me  for  no  element  longer  to  hold. 

Let  such  suspend  their  thoughts,  and  silent  be, 

For  all  philosophers  make  one  of  me; 

And  what  those  sages  either  spake  or  writ 

Is  more  authentic  than  our  modern  wit. 

Next,  of  my  fowls  such  multitudes  there  are, 

Earth's  beasts  and  Water's  fish  scarce  can  compare  — 

The  ostrich  with  her  plumes,  the  eagle  with  her  eyen, 

The  phenix,  too,  if  any  be,  are  mine; 

The  stork,  the  crane,  the  partridge,  and  the  pheasant, 

The  thrush,  the  wren,  the  lark, — a  prey  to  the  peasant, — 

With  thousands  more  which  now  I  may  omit 

Without  impeachment  to  my  tale  or  wit. 

As  my  fresh  air  preserves  all  things  in  life, 

So,  when  corrupt,  mortality  is  rife: 

Then  fevers,  purples,  pox,  and  pestilence, 

With  divers  more,  work  deadly  consequence; 

Whereof  such  multitudes  have  died  and  fled, 

The  living  scarce  had  power  to  bury  the  dead. 

Yea,  so  contagious  countries  have  we  known, 

That  birds  have  not  'scaped  death  as  they  have  flown; 

Of  murrain,  cattle  numberless  did  fall; 

Men  feared  destruction  epidemical. 


36          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

Then  of  my  tempests  felt  at  sea  and  land, 
Which  neither  ships  nor  houses  could  withstand, 
What  woeful  wrecks  I  've  made  may  well  appear, 
If  naught  were  known  but  that  before  Algier, 
Where  famous  Charles  the  Fifth  more  loss  sustained 
Than  in  the  long  hot  war  which  Milan  gained. 
Again,  what  furious  storms  and  hurricanoes 
Know  western  isles,  as  Christopher's,  Barbadoes, 
Where  neither  houses,  trees,  nor  plants  I  spare, 
But  some  fall  down,  and  some  fly  up  with  air. 
Earthquakes  so  hurtful,  and  so  feared  of  all, 
Imprisoned  I  am  the  original. 
Then  what  prodigious  sights  I  sometimes  show, 
As  battles  pitched  in  the  air,  as  countries  know; 
Their  joining,  fighting,  forcing,  and  retreat, 
That  earth  appears  in  heaven,  oh,  wonder  great! 
Sometimes  red  flaming  swords  and  blazing  stars, 
Portentous  signs  of  famines,  plagues,  and  wars, 
Which  make  the  mighty  monarchs  fear  their  fates 
By  death,  or  great  mutation  of  their  states. 
I  have  said  less  than  did  my  sisters  three; 
But  what 's  their  wrath  or  force,  the  same  's  in  me. 
To  add  to  all  I  've  said  was  my  intent, 
But  dare  not  go  beyond  my  element." 


OF   THE    FOUR    HUMORS    IN 
MAN'S    CONSTITUTION. 

The  former  four  now  ending  their  discourse, 

Ceasing  to  vaunt  their  good,  or  threat  their  force, 

Lo,  other  four  step  up,  crave  leave  to  show 

The  native  qualities  that  from  them  flow. 

But  first  they  wisely  showed  their  high  descent, 

Each  eldest  daughter  to  each  element: 

Choler  was  owned  by  Fire,  and  Blood  by  Air; 

Earth  knew  her  black  swarth  child,  Water  her  fair. 

All  having  made  obeisance  to  each  mother, 

Had  leave  to  speak,  succeeding  one  the  other. 

But  'mongst  themselves  they  were  at  variance 

Which  of  the  four  should  have  predominance. 

Choler  first  hotly  claimed  right  by  her  mother, 

Who  had  precedency  of  all  the  other; 

But  Sanguine  did  disdain  what  she  required, 

Pleading  herself  was  most  of  all  desired. 

Proud  Melancholy,  more  envious  than  the  rest, 

The  second,  third,  or  last  could  not  digest; 

3A  37 


38          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

She  was  the  silentest  of  all  the  four; 

Her  wisdom  spake  not  much,  but  thought  the  more. 

Mild  Phlegm  did  not  contest  for  chiefest  place, 

Only  she  craved  to  have  a  vacant  space. 

Well,  thus  they  parle  and  chide;   but,  to  be  brief, 

Or  will  they  nill  they  Choler  will  be  chief. 

They,  seeing  her  impetuosity, 

At  present  yielded  to  necessity. 

CHOLER. 

ff  To  show  my  high  descent  and  pedigree 
Yourselves  would  judge  but  vain  prolixity. 
It  is  acknowledged  from  whence  I  came; 
It  shall  suffice  to  show  you  what  I  am  — 
Myself  and  mother  one,  as  you  shall  see, 
But  she  in  greater,  I  in  less,  degree. 
We  both  once  masculines,  the  world  doth  know, 
Now  feminines  awhile,  for  love  we  owe 
Unto  your  sisterhood,  which  makes  us  render 
Our  noble  selves  in  a  less  noble  gender. 
Though  under  fire  we  comprehend  all  heat, 
Yet  man  for  choler  is  the  proper  seat; 
I  in  his  heart  eredl:  my  regal  throne, 
Where  monarch-like  I  play  and  sway  alone. 
Yet  many  times,  unto  my  great  disgrace, 
One  of  yourselves  are  my  compeers  in  place, 
Where  if  your  rule  prove  once  predominant, 
The  man  proves  boyish,  sottish,  ignorant; 


The  Four  Humors  39 

But  if  you  yield  subservience  unto  me, 

I  make  a  man  a  man  in  the  highest  degree. 

Be  he  a  soldier,  I  more  fence  his  heart 

Than  iron  corslet  'gainst  a  sword  or  dart. 

What  makes  him  face  his  foe  without  appal, 

To  storm  a  breach,  or  scale  a  city  wall; 

In  dangers  to  account  himself  more  sure 

Than  timorous  hares  whom  castles  do  immure? 

Have  you  not  heard  of  worthies,  demi-gods? 

'  Twixt  them  and  others  what  is  it  makes  the  odds 

But  valor?  Whence  comes  that?  From  none  of  you. 

Nay,  milksops,  at  such  brunts  you  look  but  blue. 

Here  's  sister  Ruddy,  worth  the  other  two, 

Who  much  will  talk,  but  little  dares  she  do, 

Unless  to  court  and  claw,  to  dice  and  drink; 

And  there  she  will  outbid  us  all,  I  think. 

She  loves  a  fiddle  better  than  a  drum; 

A  chamber  well;  in  field  she  dares  not  come. 

She  '11  ride  a  horse  as  bravely  as  the  best, 

And  break  a  staff,  provided  be  in  jest; 

But  shuns  to  look  on  wounds,  and  blood  that 's  spilt. 

She  loves  her  sword  only  because  it 's  gilt. 

Then  here  's  our  sad  black  sister,  worse  than  you; 

She  '11  neither  say  she  will,  nor  will  she  do, 

But,  peevish  malcontent,  she  musing  sits, 

And  by  misprision  's  like  to  lose  her  wits. 

If  great  persuasions  cause  her  meet  her  foe, 

In  her  dull  resolution  she  's  so  slow 


40          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

To  march  her  pace  to  some  is  greater  pain 

Than  by  a  quick  encounter  to  be  slain. 

But  be  she  beaten,  she  '11  not  run  away; 

She  '11  first  advise  if  it  be  not  best  to  stay. 

Now  let  's  give  cold  white  sister  Phlegm  her  right — 

So  loving  unto  all,  she  scorns  to  fight; 

If  any  threaten  her,  she  '11  in  a  trice 

Convert  from  water  to  congealed  ice; 

Her  teeth  will  chatter,  dead  and  wan  's  her  face, 

And  'fore  she  be  assaulted  quits  the  place. 

She  dares  not  challenge  if  I  speak  amiss, 

Nor  hath  she  wit  or  heat  to  blush  at  this. 

Here  's  three  of  you  all  see  now  what  you  are; 

Then  yield  to  me  preeminence  in  war. 

Again,  who  fits  for  learning,  science,  arts? 

Who  rarefies  the  intellectual  parts, 

From  whence  fine  spirits  flow,  and  witty  notions? 

But't  is  not  from  our  dull  slow  sister's  motions, 

Nor,  sister  Sanguine,  from  thy  moderate  heat. 

Poor  spirits  the  liver  breeds,  which  is  thy  seat. 

What  comes  from  thence  my  heat  refines  the  same, 

And  through  the  arteries  sends  it  o'er  the  frame; 

The  vital  spirits  they  're  called,  and  well  they  may, 

For  when  they  fail  man  turns  unto  his  clay. 

The  animal  I  claim  as  well  as  these  — 

The  nerves  should  I  not  warm,  soon  would  they  freeze. 

But  Phlegm  herself  is  now  provoked  at  this. 

She  thinks  I  never  shot  so  far  amiss; 


The  Four  Humors  4.1 

The  brain  she  challengeth,  the  head's  her  seat. 

But  know  it 's  a  foolish  brain  that  wanteth  heat; 

My  absence  proves  it  plain  —  her  wit  then  flies 

Out  at  her  nose,  or  melteth  at  her  eyes. 

Oh,  who  would  miss  this  influence  of  thine 

To  be  distilled,  a  drop  on  every  line! 

Alas,  thou  hast  no  spirits;  thy  company 

Will  feed  a  dropsy  or  a  tympany, 

The  palsy,  gout,  or  cramp,  or  some  such  dolor. 

Thou  wast  not  made  for  soldier  or  for  scholar. 

Of  greasy  paunch  and  bloated  cheeks  go  vaunt; 

But  a  good  head  from  these  are  dissonant. 

But,  Melancholy,  wouldst  have  this  glory  thine? 

Thou  sayest  thy  wits  are  staid,  subtile,  and  fine; 

'  T  is  true,  when  I  am  midwife  to  thy  birth 

Thyself 's  as  dull  as  is  thy  mother  Earth. 

Thou  canst  not  claim  the  liver,  head,  nor  heart, 

Yet  hast  the  seat  assigned,  a  goodly  part  — 

The  sink  of  all  us  three,  the  hateful  spleen; 

Of  that  black  region  nature  made  thee  queen, 

Where  pain  and  sore  obstruction  thou  dost  work, 

Where  envy,  malice,  thy  companions,  lurk. 

If  once  thou  Jrt  great,  what  follows  thereupon 

But  bodies  wasting  and  destruction  ? 

So  base  thou  art  that  baser  cannot  be, 

The  excrement  adustion  of  me. 

But  I  am  weary  to  dilate  your  shame; 

Nor  is  it  my  pleasure  thus  to  blur  your  name, 


42         The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Only  to  raise  my  honor  to  the  skies, 

As  objefts  best  appear  by  contraries. 

But  arms  and  arts  I  claim,  and  higher  things, 

The  princely  qualities  befitting  kings, 

Whose  profound  heads  I  line  with  policies: 

They  're  held  for  oracles,  they  are  so  wise; 

Their  wrathful  looks  are  death,  their  words  are  laws; 

Their  courage  it  foe,  friend,  and  subject  awes. 

But  one  of  you  would  make  a  worthy  king 

Like  our  sixth  Henry,  that  same  virtuous  thing 

That,  when  a  varlet  struck  him  o'er  the  side, 

'Forsooth,  you  are  to  blame,'  he  grave  replied. 

Take  choler  from  a  prince,  what  is  he  more 

Than  a  dead  lion,  by  beasts  triumphed  o'er? 

Again,  you  know  how  I  aft  every  part 

By  the  influence  I  still  send  from  the  heart; 

It 's  nor  your  muscles,  nerves,  nor  this,  nor  that 

Does  aught  without  my  lively  heat,  that 's  flat. 

Nay,  the  stomach,  magazine  to  all  the  rest, 

Without  my  boiling  heat  cannot  digest. 

And  yet,  to  make  my  greatness  still  more  great, 

What  differences  the  sex  but  only  heat? 

And  one  thing  more,  to  close  up  my  narration, 

Of  all  that  lives  I  cause  the  propagation. 

I  have  been  sparing  what  I  might  have  said. 

I  love  no  boasting;  that's  but  children's  trade. 

To  what  you  now  shall  say  I  will  attend, 

And  to  your  weakness  gently  condescend." 


The  Four  Humors  43 

BLOOD. 

"Good  sisters,  give  me  leave,  as  is  my  place, 

To  vent  my  grief  and  wipe  off  my  disgrace. 

Yourselves  may  plead  your  wrongs  are  no  whit  less — 

Your  patience  more  than  mine  I  must  confess. 

Did  ever  sober  tongue  such  language  speak, 

Or  honesty  such  ties  unfriendly  break? 

Dost  know  thyself  so  well,  us  so  amiss? 

Is  it  arrogance  or  folly  causeth  this? 

I  '11  only  show  the  wrong  thou  'st  done  to  me, 

Then  let  my  sisters  right  their  injury. 

To  pay  with  railings  is  not  mine  intent, 

But  to  evince  the  truth  by  argument. 

I  will  analyze  this  thy  proud  relation, 

So  full  of  boasting  and  prevarication; 

Thy  foolish  incongruities  I  '11  show, 

So  walk  thee  till  thou  'rt  cold,  then  let  thee  go. 

There  is  no  soldier  but  thyself,  thou  sayest; 

No  valor  upon  earth,  but  what  thou  hast. 

Thy  silly  provocations  I  despise, 

And  leave  it  to  all  to  judge  where  valor  lies. 

No  pattern,  nor  no  patron,  will  I  bring 

But  David,  Judah's  most  heroic  king, 

Whose  glorious  deeds  in  arms  the  world  can  tell, 

A  rosy-cheeked  musician  thou  knowest  well; 

He  knew  well  how  to  handle  sword  and  harp, 

And  how  to  strike  full  sweet,  as  well  as  sharp. 


44         The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Thou  laughest  at  me  for  loving  merriment, 

And  scornest  all  knightly  sports  at  tournament. 

Thou  sayest  I  love  my  sword  because  it's  gilt; 

But  know  I  love  the  blade  more  than  the  hilt, 

Yet  do  abhor  such  temerarious  deeds 

As  thy  unbridled  barbarous  choler  breeds. 

Thy  rudeness  counts  good  manners  vanity, 

And  real  compliments  base  flattery. 

For  drink,  which  of  us  twain  likes  it  the  best 

I  '11  go  no  farther  than  thy  nose  for  test. 

Thy  other  scoffs,  not  worthy  of  reply, 

Shall  vanish  as  of  no  validity. 

Of  thy  black  calumnies  this  is  but  part, 

But  now  I  '11  show  what  soldier  thou  art. 

And  though  thou'st  used  me  with  opprobrious  spite, 

My  ingenuity  must  give  thee  right. 

Thy  choler  is  but  rage  when  't  is  most  pure, 

But  useful  when  a  mixture  can  endure. 

As  with  thy  mother  Fire,  so  't  is  with  thee  — 

The  best  of  all  the  four  when  they  agree; 

But  let  her  leave  the  rest,  then  I  presume 

Both  them  and  all  things  else  she  would  consume. 

Whilst  us  for  thine  associates  thou  takest, 

A  soldier  most  complete  in  all  points  makest; 

But  when  thou  scornest  to  take  the  help  we  lend, 

Thou  art  a  fury  or  infernal  fiend. 

Witness  the  execrable  deeds  thou  'st  done, 

Nor  sparing  sex  nor  age,  nor  sire  nor  son. 


The  Four  Humors  45 

To  satisfy  thy  pride  and  cruelty 

Thou  oft  hast  broke  bounds  of  humanity. 

Nay,  should  I  tell,  thou  wouldst  count  me  no  blab, 

How  often  for  the  lie  thou'st  given  the  stab. 

To  take  the  wall 's  a  sin  of  so  high  rate 

That  naught  but  death  the  same  may  expiate. 

To  cross  thy  will,  a  challenge  doth  deserve; 

So  sheddest  that  blood  thou  'rt  bounden  to  preserve. 

Wilt  thou  this  valor,  courage,  manhood,  call? 

No;  know  't  is  pride  most  diabolical. 

If  murders  be  thy  glory,  't  is  no  less. 

I'll  not  envy  thy  feats  nor  happiness. 

But  if  in  fitting  time  and  place  'gainst  foes 

For  country's  good  thy  life  thou  darest  expose, 

Be  dangers  ne'er  so  high,  and  courage  great, 

I'll  praise  that  prowess,  fury,  choler,  heat. 

But  such  thou  never  art  when  all  alone, 

Yet  such  when  we  all  four  are  joined  in  one. 

And  when  such  thou  art,  even  such  are  we, 

The  friendly  coadjutors  still  of  thee. 

Nextly,  the  spirits  thou  dost  wholly  claim, 

Which  natural,  vital,  animal,  we  name. 

To  play  philosopher  I  have  no  list, 

Nor  yet  physician,  nor  anatomist; 

For  acting  these  I  have  no  will  nor  art, 

Yet  shall  with  equity  give  thee  thy  part. 

For  natural,  thou  dost  not  much  contest; 

For  there  is  none,  thou  sayest,  if  some,  not  best. 


46          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

That  there  are  some,  and  best,  I  dare  aver, 

Of  greatest  use,  if  reason  do  not  err. 

What  is  there  living  which  does  not  first  derive 

His  life,  now  animal,  from  vegetive? 

If  thou  givest  life,  I  give  the  nourishment; 

Thine  without  mine  is  not,  't  is  evident. 

But  I,  without  thy  help,  can  give  a  growth, 

As  plants,  trees,  and  small  embryon  knoweth. 

And  if  vital  spirits  do  flow  from  thee, 

I  am  as  sure  the  natural  from  me. 

Be  thine  the  nobler,  which  I  grant,  yet  mine 

Shall  justly  claim  priority  of  thine. 

I  am  the  fountain  which  thy  cistern  fills 

Through  warm  blue  conduits  of  my  venial  rills. 

What  hath  the  heart  but  what 's  sent  from  the  liver? 

If  thou' rt  the  taker,  I  must  be  the  giver. 

Then  never  boast  of  what  thou  dost  receive, 

For  of  such  glory  I  shall  thee  bereave. 

But  why  the  heart  should  be  usurped  by  thee 

I  must  confess  seems  something  strange  to  me. 

The  spirits  through  thy  heat  made  perfeft  are, 

But  the  material's  none  of  thine,  that's  clear; 

Their  wondrous  mixture  is  of  blood  and  air — 

The  first,  myself;  second,  my  mother  fair. 

But  I  '11  not  force  retorts,  nor  do  thee  wrong; 

Thy  fiery  yellow  froth  is  mixed  among. 

Challenge  not  all  'cause  part  we  do  allow; 

Thou  knowest  I  've  there  to  do  as  well  as  thou. 


The  Four  Humors  47 

But  thou  wilt  say  I  deal  unequally. 

There  lives  the  irascible  faculty 

Which,  without  all  dispute,  is  Choler's  own; 

Besides,  the  vehement  heat,  only  there  known,    V 

Can  be  imputed  unto  none  but  Fire, 

Which  is  thyself,  thy  mother,  and  thy  sire. 

That  this  is  true  I  easily  can  assent, 

If  still  you  take  along  my  aliment, 

And  let  me  be  your  partner,  which  is  due; 

So  shall  I  give  the  dignity  to  you. 

Again,  stomach's  concoction  thou  dost  claim, 

But  by  what  right  nor  dost  nor  canst  thou  name, 

Unless,  as  heat,  it  be  thy  faculty, 

And  so  thou  challengest  her  property. 

The  help  she  needs  the  loving  liver  lends, 

Who  the  benefit  of  the  whole  ever  intends. 

To  meddle  further  I  shall  be  but  shent, 

The  rest  to  our  sisters  is  more  pertinent; 

Your  slanders,  thus  refuted,  take  no  place, 

Nor  what  you  've  said  doth  argue  my  disgrace. 

Now  through  your  leaves  some  little  time  I'll  spend 

My  worth  in  humble  manner  to  commend. 

This  hot,  moist,  nutritive  humor  of  mine, 

When  't  is  untaint,  pure,  and  most  genuine, 

Shall  chiefly  take  the  place,  as  is  my  due, 

Without  the  least  indignity  to  you. 

Of  all  your  qualities  I  do  partake, 

And  what  you  single  are,  the  whole  I  make. 


48          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Your  hot,  moist,  cold,  dry  natures  are  but  four. 

I  moderately  am  all;  what  need  I  more? 

As  thus,  if  hot,  then  dry;  if  moist,  then  cold. 

If  this  you  can't  disprove,  then  all  I  hold. 

My  virtues  hid,  I  've  let  you  dimly  see 

My  sweet  complexion  proves  the  verity. 

This  scarlet  dye  's  a  badge  of  what 's  within, 

One  touch  thereof  so  beautifies  the  skin. 

Nay,  could  I  be  from  all  your  tangs  but  pure, 

Man's  life  to  boundless  time  might  still  endure. 

But  here  one  thrusts  her  heat,  where  it 's  not  required; 

So,  suddenly,  the  body  all  is  fired, 

And  of  the  calm,  sweet  temper  quite  bereft, 

Which  makes  the  mansion  by  the  soul  soon  left. 

So  Melancholy  seizes  on  a  man, 

With  her  uncheerful  visage,  swarth  and  wan; 

The  body  dries,  the  mind  sublime  doth  smother, 

And  turns  him  to  the  womb  of  his  earthy  mother. 

And  Phlegm  likewise  can  show  her  cruel  art, 

With  cold  distempers  to  pain  every  part; 

The  lungs  she  rots,  the  body  wears  away, 

As  if  she  'd  leave  no  flesh  to  turn  to  clay. 

Her  languishing  diseases,  though  not  quick, 

At  length,  alas,  demolish  the  fabric. 

All  to  prevent,  this  curious  care  I  take: 

In  the  last  concoftion  segregation  make 

Of  all  the  perverse  humors  from  mine  own. 

The  bitter  Choler,  most  malignant  known, 


The  Four  Humors  49 

I  turn  into  her  cell  close  by  my  side; 

The  Melancholy  to  the  spleen  to  abide; 

Likewise  the  whey,  some  use  I  in  the  veins, 

The  overplus  I  send  unto  the  reins. 

But  yet,  for  all  my  toil,  my  care,  and  skill, 

It's  doomed,  by  an  irrevocable  will, 

That  my  intents  should  meet  with  interruption, 

That  mortal  man  might  turn  to  his  corruption. 

I  might  here  show  the  nobleness  of  mind 

Of  such  as  to  the  sanguine  are  inclined; 

They  're  liberal,  pleasant,  kind,  and  courteous, 

And,  like  the  liver,  all  benignious. 

For  arts  and  sciences  they  are  the  fittest, 

And,  maugre  Choler,  still  they  are  the  wittiest, 

With  an  ingenious  working  fantasy, 

A  most  voluminous  large  memory, 

And  nothing  wanting  but  solidity. 

But  why,  alas,  thus  tedious  should  I  be? 

Thousand  examples  you  may  daily  see. 

If  time  I  have  transgressed,  and  been  too  long, 

Yet  could  not  be  more  brief  without  much  wrong. 

I  've  scarce  wiped  off  the  spots  proud  Choler  cast, 

Such  venom  lies  in  words,  though  but  a  blast. 

No  brags  I  've  used;  to  you  I  dare  appeal, 

If  modesty  my  worth  do  not  conceal. 

I  've  used  no  bitterness,  nor  taxed  your  name. 

As  I  to  you,  to  me  do  ye  the  same." 


50          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

MELANCHOLY. 

"He  that  with  two  assailants  hath  to  do 

Had  need  be  armed  well,  and  aftive  too  — 

Especially  when  friendship  is  pretended; 

That  blow  's  most  deadly  where  it  is  intended. 

Though  Choler  rage  and  rail,  I  '11  not  do  so; 

The  tongue  's  no  weapon  to  assault  a  foe. 

But  sith  we  fight  with  words,  we  might  be  kind 

To  spare  ourselves  and  beat  the  whistling  wind. 

Fair  rosy  sister,  so  mightest  thou  'scape  free. 

(I  '11  flatter  for  a  time  as  thou  didst  me; 

But  when  the  first  offender  I  have  laid, 

Thy  soothing  girds  shall  fully  be  repaid.) 

But,  Choler,  be  thou  cooled  or  chafed,  I  '11  venture, 

And  in  contention's  lists  now  justly  enter. 

What  moved  thee  thus  to  vilify  my  name, 

Not  past  all  reason,  but,  in  truth,  all  shame? 

Thy  fiery  spirit  shall  bear  away  this  prize; 

To  play  such  furious  pranks  I  am  too  wise. 

If  in  a  soldier  rashness  be  so  precious, 

Know  in  a  general  it  is  most  pernicious. 

Nature  doth  teach  to  shield  the  head  from  harm; 

The  blow  that 's  aimed  thereat  is  latched  by  the  arm. 

When  in  battalia  my  foes  I  face, 

I  then  command  proud  Choler  stand  thy  place, 

To  use  thy  sword,  thy  courage,  and  thy  art 

There  to  defend  myself,  thy  better  part. 


The  Four  Humors  51 

This  wariness  count  not  for  cowardice; 

He  is  not  truly  valiant  that  Js  not  wise. 

It  *s  no  less  glory  to  defend  a  town 

Than  by  assault  to  gain  one  not  our  own. 

And  if  Marcellus  bold  be  called  Rome's  sword, 

Wise  Fabius  is  her  buckler,  all  accord. 

And  if  thy  haste  my  slowness  should  not  temper, 

'T  were  but  a  mad,  irregular  distemper. 

Enough  of  that  by  our  sisters  heretofore. 

I  '11  come  to  that  which  wounds  me  somewhat  more. 

Of  learning,  policy,  thou  wouldst  bereave  me, 

But  not  thine  ignorance  shall  thus  deceive  me. 

What  greater  clerk  or  politician  lives 

Than  he  whose  brain  a  touch  my  humor  gives? 

What  is  too  hot  my  coldness  doth  abate, 

What 's  diffluent  I  do  consolidate. 

If  I  be  partial  judged,  or  thought  to  err, 

The  melancholy  snake  shall  it  aver, 

Whose  cold  dry  head  more  subtility  doth  yield 

Than  all  the  huge  beasts  of  the  fertile  field. 

Again,  thou  dost  confine  me  to  the  spleen, 

As  of  that  only  part  I  were  the  queen. 

Let  me  as  well  make  thy  precinfts  the  gall, 

So  prison  thee  within  that  bladder  small. 

Reduce  the  man  to  his  principles,  then  see 

If  I  have  not  more  part  than  all  you  three. 

What  is  within,  without,  of  theirs  or  thine, 

Yet  time  and  age  shall  soon  declare  it  mine. 


5  2         The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

When  death  doth  seize  the  man,  your  stock  is  lost; 

When  you  poor  bankrupts  prove,  then  have  I  most. 

You  '11  say,  here  none  shall  e'er  disturb  my  right; 

You,  high  born,  from  that  lump  then  take  your  flight. 

Then  who  's  man's  friend,  when  life  and  all  forsakes? 

His  mother,  mine,  him  to  her  womb  retakes: 

Thus  he  is  ours;  his  portion  is  the  grave. 

But  while  he  lives,  I  '11  show  what  part  I  have. 

And  first,  the  firm  dry  bones  I  justly  claim, 

The  strong  foundation  of  the  stately  frame. 

Likewise  the  useful  spleen,  though  not  the  best, 

Yet  is  a  bowel  called  well  as  the  rest; 

The  liver,  stomach,  owe  their  thanks  of  right: 

The  first  it  drains,  of  the  last  quicks  appetite. 

Laughter  (though  thou  say  malice)  flows  from  hence — 

These  two  in  one  cannot  have  residence. 

But  thou  most  grossly  dost  mistake  to  think 

The  spleen  for  all  you  three  was  made  a  sink. 

Of  all  the  rest  thou  'st  nothing  there  to  do; 

But  if  thou  hast,  that  malice  is  from  you. 

Again,  you  often  touch  my  swarthy  hue. 

That  black  is  black,  and  I  am  black,  is  true, 

But  yet  more  comely  far,  I  dare  avow, 

Than  is  thy  torrid  nose  or  brazen  brow. 

But  that  which  shows  how  high  your  spite  is  bent 

Is  charging  me  to  be  thy  excrement. 

Thy  loathsome  imputation  I  defy. 

So  plain  a  slander  needeth  no  reply. 


The  Four  Humors  53 

When  by  thy  heat  thou  'st  baked  thyself  to  crust, 

And  so  art  called  'black'  Choler,  or  adust, 

Thou,  witless,  thinkest  that  I  am  thy  excretion, 

So  mean  thou  art  in  art  as  in  discretion. 

But  by  your  leave  I  '11  let  your  greatness  see 

What  officer  thou  art  to  us  all  three  — 

The  kitchen  drudge,  the  cleanser  of  the  sinks, 

That  casts  out  all  that  man  e'er  eats  or  drinks. 

If  any  doubt  the  truth  whence  this  should  come, 

Show  them  thy  passage  to  the  duodenum; 

Thy  biting  quality  still  irritates, 

Till  filth  and  thee  nature  exonerates. 

If  there  thou  'rt  stopped,  to  the  liver  thou  dost  turn  in, 

And  thence  with  jaundice  saffron  all  the  skin. 

No  further  time  I  '11  spend  in  confutation; 

I  trust  I  've  cleared  your  slanderous  imputation. 

I  now  speak  unto  all,  no  more  to  one; 

Pray  hear,  admire,  and  learn  instruction. 

My  virtues  yours  surpass  without  compare: 

The  first  my  constancy,  that  jewel  rare. 

Choler  's  too  rash  this  golden  gift  to  hold, 

And  Sanguine  is  more  fickle  manifold;  — 

Here,  there,  her  restless  thoughts  do  ever  fly, 

Constant  in  nothing  but  unconstancy. 

And  what  Phlegm  is  we  know,  like  to  her  mother; 

Unstable  is  the  one,  and  so  the  other. 

With  me  is  noble  patience  also  found. 

Impatient  Choler  loveth  not  the  sound. 

4A 


54          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

What  Sanguine  is,  she  doth  not  heed  nor  care, 

Now  up,  now  down,  transported  like  the  air. 

Phlegm  's  patient  because  her  nature  's  tame. 

But  I  by  virtue  do  acquire  the  same. 

My  temperance,  chastity,  are  eminent; 

But  these  with  you  are  seldom  resident. 

Now  could  I  stain  my  ruddy  sister's  face 

With  deeper  red,  to  show  you  her  disgrace. 

But  rather  I  with  silence  veil  her  shame 

Than  cause  her  blush  while  I  relate  the  same. 

Nor  are  ye  free  from  this  enormity, 

Although  she  bear  the  greatest  obloquy. 

My  prudence,  judgment,  I  might  now  reveal; 

But  wisdom  't  is  my  wisdom  to  conceal. 

Unto  diseases  not  inclined  as  you, 

Nor  cold  nor  hot,  ague  nor  pleurisy, 

Nor  cough  nor  quinsy,  nor  the  burning  fever, 

I  rarely  feel  to  aft  his  fierce  endeavor. 

My  sickness  in  conceit  chiefly  doth  lie; 

What  I  imagine,  that 's  my  malady. 

Chimeras  strange  are  in  my  fantasy, 

And  things  that  never  were,  nor  shall  I  see. 

I  love  not  talk;  reason  lies  not  in  length, 

Nor  multitude  of  words  argues  our  strength. 

I  've  done.     Pray,  sister  Phlegm,  proceed  in  course. 

We  shall  expeft  much  sound,  but  little  force." 


The  Four  Humors  5  5 

PHLEGM. 

"Patient  I  am,  patient  I  'd  need  to  be, 
To  bear  with  the  injurious  taunts  of  three. 
Though  wit  I  want,  and  anger  I  have  less, 
Enough  of  both  my  wrongs  now  to  express. 
I  've  not  forgot  how  bitter  Choler  spake, 
Nor  how  her  gall  on  me  she  causeless  brake; 
Nor  wonder  't  was,  for  hatred  there  's  not  small 
Where  opposition  is  diametrical. 
To  what  is  truth  I  freely  will  assent, 
Although  my  name  do  suffer  detriment; 
What 's  slanderous,  repel;  doubtful,  dispute; 
And  when  I  Ve  nothing  left  to  say,  be  mute. 
Valor  I  want;  no  soldier  am,  't  is  true  — 
I  '11  leave  that  manly  property  to  you; 
I  love  no  thundering  guns,  nor  bloody  wars; 
My  polished  skin  was  not  ordained  for  scars. 
But  though  the  pitched  field  I  've  ever  fled, 
At  home  the  conquerors  have  conquered. 
Nay,  I  could  tell  you  what 's  more  true  than  meet, 
That  kings  have  laid  their  scepters  at  my  feet: 
When  sister  Sanguine  paints  my  ivory  face, 
The  monarchs  bend  and  sue  but  for  my  grace; 
My  lily-white,  when  joined  with  her  red, 
Princes  hath  slaved,  and  captains  captiv^d. 
Country  with  country,  Greece  with  Asia,  fights, 
Sixty-nine  princes,  all  stout  hero  knights, 


56          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

Under  Troy's  walls  ten  years  will  wear  away 
Rather  than  lose  one  beauteous  Helena. 
But 't  were  as  vain  to  prove  this  truth  of  mine 
As  at  noon-day  to  tell  the  sun  doth  shine. 
Next  difference  that  'twixt  us  twain  doth  lie, 
Who  doth  possess  the  brain,  or  thou  or  I? 
Shame  forced  thee  say  the  matter  that  was  mine, 
But  the  spirits  by  which  it  afts  are  thine. 
Thou  speakest  truth,  and  I  can  say  no  less; 
Thy  heat  doth  much,  I  candidly  confess. 
Yet  without  ostentation  I  may  say 
I  do  as  much  for  thee  another  way; 
And  though  I  grant  thou  art  my  helper  here, 
No  debtor  I  because  it 's  paid  elsewhere. 
With  all  your  flourishes,  now,  sisters  three, 
Who  is  it  that  dare,  or  can,  compare  with  me? 
My  excellences  are  so  great,  so  many, 
I  am  confounded  'fore  I  speak  of  any. 
The  brain  's  the  noblest  member,  all  allow; 
Its  form  and  situation  will  avow; 
Its  ventricles,  membranes,  and  wondrous  net 
Galen,  Hippocrates,  drive  to  a  set. 
That  divine  offspring,  the  immortal  soul, 
Though  it  in  all  and  every  part  be  whole, 
Within  this  stately  place  of  eminence 
Doth  doubtless  keep  its  mighty  residence. 
And  surely  the  soul  sensitive  here  lives, 
Which  life  and  motion  to  each  creature  gives. 


The  Four  Humors  57 

The  conjugation  of  the  parts  to  the  brain 

Doth  show  hence  flow  the  powers  which  they  retain: 

Within  this  high-built  citadel  doth  lie 

The  reason,  fancy,  and  the  memory; 

The  faculty  of  speech  doth  here  abide; 

The  spirits  animal  from  hence  do  slide; 

The  five  most  noble  senses  here  do  dwell  — 

Of  three  it 's  hard  to  say  which  doth  excel. 

This  point  now  to  discuss  'longs  not  to  me; 

I  '11  touch  the  sight,  greatest  wonder  of  the  three. 

The  optic  nerve,  coats,  humors,  all  are  mine, 

The  watery,  glassy,  and  the  crystalline. 

O  mixture  strange!  O  color  colorless! 

Thy  perfect  temperament  who  can  express? 

He  was  no  fool  who  thought  the  soul  lay  there 

Whence  her  affections,  passions,  speak  so  clear. 

O  good,  O  bad,  O  true,  O  traitorous  eyes, 

What  wonderment  within  your  balls  there  lies! 

Of  all  the  senses  sight  shall  be  the  queen. 

Yet  some  may  wish,  oh,  had  mine  eyes  ne'er  seen! 

Mine  likewise  is  the  marrow  of  the  back, 

Which  runs  through  all  the  spondles  of  the  rack; 

It  is  the  substitute  of  the  royal  brain; 

All  nerves,  except  seven  pair,  to  it  retain, 

And  the  strong  ligaments  from  hence  arise 

Which,  joint  to  joint,  the  entire  body  ties. 

Some  other  parts  there  issue  from  the  brain, 

Whose  worth  and  use  to  tell  I  must  refrain; 


5  8         The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

Some  curious  learned  Crooke  may  these  reveal, 

But  modesty  hath  charged  me  to  conceal. 

Here  's  my  epitome  of  excellence, 

For  what 's  the  brain's  is  mine  by  consequence. 

A  foolish  brain,  quoth  Choler,  wanting  heat! 

But  a  mad  one,  say  I,  where  't  is  too  great. 

Phrensy  is  worse  than  folly;  one  would  more  glad 

With  a  tame  fool  converse  than  with  a  mad. 

For  learning,  then,  my  brain  is  not  the  fittest, 

Nor  will  I  yield  that  Choler  is  the  wittiest; 

Thy  judgment  is  unsafe,  thy  fancy  little, 

For  memory  the  sand  is  not  more  brittle. 

Again,  none  's  fit  for  kingly  state  but  thou! 

If  tyrants  be  the  best,  I  '11  it  allow; 

But  if  love  be  as  requisite  as  fear, 

Then  thou  and  I  must  make  a  mixture  here. 

Well,  to  be  brief,  I  hope  now  Choler  's  laid, 

And  I  '11  pass  by  what  sister  Sanguine  said. 

To  Melancholy  I  '11  make  no  reply; 

The  worst  she  said  was  instability 

And  too  much  talk,  both  which  I  here  confess  — 

A  warning  good;  hereafter  I  '11  say  less. 

Let 's  now  be  friends;  it 's  time  our  spite  were  spent, 

Lest  we  too  late  this  rashness  do  repent. 

Such  premises  will  force  a  sad  conclusion; 

Unless  we  agree,  all  falls  into  confusion. 

Let  Sanguine  with  her  hot  hand  Choler  hold; 

To  take  her  moist  my  moisture  will  be  bold; 


The  Four  Humors  59 

My  cold  cold  Melancholy  Js  hand  shall  clasp; 

Her  dry  dry  Choler  Js  other  hand  shall  grasp: 

Two  hot,  two  moist,  two  cold,  two  dry,  here  be, 

A  golden  ring,  the  posey  Unity. 

Or  jars  or  scoffs  let  none  hereafter  see, 

But  all  admire  our  perfect  amity; 

Nor  be  discerned,  here  's  Water,  Earth,  Air,  Fire, 

But  here  so  compaft  body,  whole,  entire." 

This  loving  counsel  pleased  them  all  so  well 
That  Phlegm  was  judged,  for  kindness,  to  excel. 


.&XXXXXCfcX&X 


Jfl«PTOeXT3^^ 


OF   THE   FOUR   AGES   OF   MAN. 

Lo,  now  four  other  aft  upon  the  stage: 
Childhood  and  Youth,  the  Manly  and  Old  Age. 
The  first,  son  unto  Phlegm,  grand-child  to  Water, 
Unstable,  supple,  cold,  and  moist 's  his  nature; 
The  second,  Frolic,  claims  his  pedigree 
From  Blood  and  Air,  for  hot  and  moist  is  he; 
The  third  of  Fire  and  Choler  is  composed  — 
Vindictive  he,  and  quarrelsome  disposed; 
The  last  of  Earth  and  heavy  Melancholy, 
Solid,  hating  all  lightness  and  all  folly. 
Childhood  was  clothed  in  white  and  green,  to  show 
His  spring  was  intermixed  with  some  snow; 
Upon  his  head  nature  a  garland  set 
Of  primrose,  daisy,  and  the  violet; 
(Such  cold,  mean  flowers  the  spring  puts  forth  betime 
Before  the  sun  hath  throughly  heat  the  clime;) 
His  hobby  striding,  did  not  ride,  but  run; 
And  in  his  hand  an  hour-glass  new  begun 
In  danger  every  moment  of  a  fall  — 
And  when  't  is  broke  then  ends  his  life  and  all. 
60 


The  Four  Ages  61 

But  if  he  hold  till  it  have  run  its  last, 

Then  may  he  live  out  threescore  years  or  past. 

Next  Youth  came  up  in  gorgeous  attire, 

As  that  fond  age  doth  most  of  all  desire, 

His  suit  of  crimson,  and  his  scarf  of  green. 

His  pride  in  his  countenance  was  quickly  seen; 

Garland  of  roses,  pinks,  and  gillyflowers 

Seemed  on  his  head  to  grow,  bedewed  with  showers; 

His  face  as  fresh  as  is  Aurora  fair 

When,  blushing,  she  first  begins  to  light  the  air; 

No  wooden  horse,  but  one  of  mettle  tried, 

He  seems  to  fly  or  swim,  and  not  to  ride; 

Then,  prancing  on  the  stage,  about  he  wheels  — 

But  as  he  went  death  waited  at  his  heels. 

The  next  came  up  in  a  much  graver  sort, 

As  one  that  cared  for  a  good  report; 

His  sword  by  his  side,  and  choler  in  his  eyes, 

But  neither  used  as  yet,  for  he  was  wise; 

Of  autumn's  fruits  a  basket  on  his  arm, 

His  golden  god  in  his  purse,  which  was  his  charm. 

And  last  of  all  to  aft  upon  this  stage, 

Leaning  upon  his  staff,  came  up  Old  Age. 

Under  his  arm  a  sheaf  of  wheat  he  bore, 

An  harvest  of  the  best.    What  needs  he  more? 

In  his  other  hand  a  glass  e'en  almost  run, 

Thus  writ  about,"  This  out,  then  am  I  done." 

His  hoary  hairs  and  grave  aspeft  made  way, 

And  all  gave  ear  to  what  he  had  to  say. 


6  2          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

These  being  met,  each  in  his  equipage, 
Intend  to  speak  according  to  their  age; 
But  wise  Old  Age  did  with  all  gravity 
To  childish  Childhood  give  precedency, 
And  to  the  rest  his  reason  mildly  told  — 
That  he  was  young  before  he  grew  so  old. 
To  do  as  he  each  one  full  soon  assents. 
Their  method  was  that  of  the  Elements  — 
That  each  should  tell  what  of  himself  he  knew, 
Both  good  and  bad,  but  yet  no  more  than  's  true. 
With  heed  now  stood  three  ages  of  frail  man 
To  hear  the  child,  who,  crying,  thus  began. 

CHILDHOOD. 

"Ah,  me!  conceived  in  sin,  and  born  with  sorrow, 
A  nothing,  here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow, 

y Whose  mean  beginning  blushing  can't  reveal, 
ut  night  and  darkness  must  with  shame  conceal! 
My  mother's  breeding  sickness  I  will  spare, 
Her  nine  months'  weary  burden  not  declare; 
To  show  her  bearing  pains  I  should  do  wrong, 
To  tell  those  pangs  which  can't  be  told  by  tongue. 
With  tears  into  the  world  I  did  arrive; 
My  mother  still  did  waste  as  I  did  thrive, 
Who  yet,  with  love  and  all  alacrity, 
Spending,  was  willing  to  be  spent  for  me. 
With  wayward  cries  I  did  disturb  her  rest, 
Who  sought  still  to  appease  me  with  the  breast; 


The  Four  Ages  63 

With  weary  limbs  she  danced  and  "By,  By,"  sung, 

When  wretched  I,  ingrate,  had  done  the  wrong. 

When  infancy  was  past,  my  childishness 

Did  aft  all  folly  that  it  could  express; 

My  silliness  did  only  take  delight 

In  that  which  riper  age  did  scorn  and  slight — 

In  rattles,  baubles,  and  such  toyish  stuff. 

My  then  ambitious  thoughts  were  low  enough; 

My  high-born  soul  so  straitly  was  confined 

That  its  own  worth  it  did  not  know  nor  mind; 

This  little  house  of  flesh  did  spacious  count, 

Through  ignorance  all  troubles  did  surmount. 

Yet  this  advantage  had  mine  ignorance  — 

Freedom  from  envy  and  from  arrogance. 

How  to  be  rich  or  great  I  did  not  cark; 

A  baron  or  a  duke  ne'er  made  my  mark, 

Nor  studious  was  kings'  favors  how  to  buy 

With  costly  presents  or  base  flattery; 

No  office  coveted,  wherein  I  might 

Make  strong  myself  and  turn  aside  weak  right; 

No  malice  bore  to  this  or  that  great  peer, 

Nor  unto  buzzing  whisperers  gave  ear. 

I  gave  no  hand  nor  vote  for  death  or  life; 

I  'd  naught  to  do  'twixt  king  and  people's  strife; 

No  statist  I,  nor  martialist  in  the  field; 

Where'er  I  went,  mine  innocence  was  shield. 

My  quarrels  not  for  diadems  did  rise, 

But  for  an  apple,  plum,  or  some  such  prize; 


64          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

My  strokes  did  cause  no  blood,  no  wounds  or  scars; 
My  little  wrath  did  end  soon  as  my  wars; 
My  duel  was  no  challenge,  nor  did  seek 
My  foe  should  weltering  in  his  bowels  reek. 
I  had  no  suits  at  law  neighbors  to  vex, 
Nor  evidence  for  lands  did  me  perplex. 
I  feared  no  storms,  nor  all  the  wind  that  blows; 
I  had  no  ships  at  sea,  nor  freights  to  lose. 
I  feared  no  drought  nor  wet — I  had  no  crop; 
Nor  yet  on  future  things  did  set  my  hope. 
This  was  mine  innocence.     But,  ah!  the  seeds 
Lay  rakfd  up  of  all  the  cursed  weeds, 
Which  sprouted  forth  in  mine  ensuing  age, 
As  he  can  tell  that  next  comes  on  the  stage. 
But  yet  let  me  relate,  before  I  go, 
The  sins  and  dangers  I  am  subject  to. 
Stained  from  birth  with  Adam's  sinful  fact, 
(\ Thence  I  began  to  sin  as  soon  as  act: 
A  perverse  will,  a  love  to  what 's  forbid, 
A  serpent's  sting  in  pleasing  face  lay  hid; 
A  lying  tongue  as  soon  as  it  could  speak, 
And  fifth  commandment  I  do  daily  break; 
Oft  stubborn,  peevish,  sullen,  pout  and  cry, 
Then  naught  can  please,  and  yet  I  know  not  why. 
As  many  are  my  sins,  so  dangers,  too;  ;  -§v. 

For  sin  brings  sorrow,  sickness,  death,  and  woe; 
And  though  I  miss  the  tossings  of  the  mind, 
Yet  griefs  in  my  frail  flesh  I  still  do  find. 


The  Four  Ages  65 

What  gripes  of  wind  mine  infancy  did  pain! 
What  tortures  I  in  breeding  teeth  sustain! 
What  crudities  my  stomach  cold  hath  bred, 
Whence  vomits,  flux,  and  worms  have  issued! 
What  breaches,  knocks,  and  falls  I  daily  have, 
And  some  perhaps  I  '11  carry  to  my  grave; 
Sometimes  in  fire,  sometimes  in  water,  fall, 
Strangely  preserved,  yet  mind  it  not  at  all. 
At  home,  abroad,  my  dangers  manifold 
That  wonder  't  is  my  glass  till  now  doth  hold. 
I  *ve  done;  unto  my  elders  I  give  way; 
For  't  is  but  little  that  a  child  can  say. 

TOVTH. 

My  goodly  clothing  and  my  beauteous  skin 
Declare  some  greater  riches  are  within. 
But  what  is  best  I  '11  first  present  to  view, 
And  then  the  worst  in  a  more  ugly  hue. 
For  thus  to  do  we  on  this  stage  assemble; 
Then  let  not  him  that  hath  most  craft  dissemble. 
My  education  and  my  learning  such 
As  might  myself  and  others  profit  much: 
With  nurture  trained  up  in  virtue's  schools, 
Of  science,  arts,  and  tongues  I  know  the  rules; 
The  manners  of  the  court  I  also  know, 
And  so  likewise  what  they  in  the  country  do. 
The  brave  attempts  of  valiant  knights  I  prize 
That  dare  scale  walls  and  forts  reared  to  the  skies; 
5 


66          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

The  snorting  horse,  the  trumpet,  drum,  I  like, 

The  glittering  sword,  the  pistol,  and  the  pike. 

I  cannot  lie  intrenched  before  a  town, 

Nor  wait  till  good  success  our  hopes  doth  crown. 

I  scorn  the  heavy  corselet,  musket-proof; 

I  fly  to  catch  the  bullet  that 's  aloof. 

Though  thus  in  field,  at  home,  to  all  most  kind, 

So  affable  that  I  can  suit  each  mind, 

I  can  insinuate  into  the  breast, 

And  by  my  mirth  can  raise  the  heart  depressed. 

Sweet  music  wraps  my  brave,  harmonious  soul; 

My  high  thoughts  elevate  beyond  the  pole; 

My  wit,  my  bounty,  and  my  courtesy 

Make  all  to  place  their  future  hopes  on  me. 

This  is  my  best;  but  youth  is  known,  alas, 

To  be  as  wild  as  is  the  snuffing  ass, 

As  vain  as  froth  or  vanity  can  be, 

That  who  would  see  vain  man  may  look  on  me: 

My  gifts  abused,  my  education  lost, 

My  woeful  parents'  longing  hopes  are  crossed; 

My  wit  evaporates  in  merriment; 

My  valor  in  some  beastly  quarrel 's  spent. 

My  lust  doth  hurry  me  to  all  that 's  ill. 

I  know  no  law  nor  reason  but  my  will. — 

Sometimes  lay  wait  to  take  a  wealthy  purse, 

Or  stab  the  man  in  his  own  defence  —  that 's  worse. 

Sometimes  I  cheat,  unkind,  a  female  heir 

Of  all  at  once,  who,  not  so  wise  as  fair, 


The  Four  Ages  67 

Trusteth  my  loving  looks  and  glozing  tongue 

Until  her  friends,  treasure,  honor,  are  gone. 

Sometimes  I  sit  carousing  others'  health 

Until  mine  own  be  gone,  my  wit,  and  wealth; 

From  pipe  to  pot,  from  pot  to  words  and  blows, — 

For  he  that  loveth  wine  wanteth  no  woes, — 

Whole  nights  with  ruffians,  roarers,  fiddlers,  spend. 

To  all  obscenity  mine  ears  I  lend; 

All  counsel  hate  which  tends  to  make  me  wise, 

And  dearest  friends  count  for  mine  enemies. 

If  any  care  I  take,  Jt  is  to  be  fine; 

For  sure  my  suits  more  than  my  virtues  shine. 

If  time  from  lewd  companions  I  can  spare, 

JT  is  spent  to  curl  and  pounce  my  new-bought  hair. 

Some  new  Adonis  I  do  strive  to  be; 

Sardanapalus  now  survives  in  me. 

Cards,  dice,  and  oaths  concomitant  I  love; 

To  plays,  to  masks,  to  taverns,  still  I  move. 

And  in  a  word,  if  what  I  am  you  'd  hear, 

Seek  out  a  British  brutish  cavalier: 

Such  wretch,  such  monster,  am  I;  but  yet  more  — 

I  have  no  heart  at  all  this  to  deplore; 

Remembering  not  the  dreadful  day  of  doom, 

Nor  yet  that  heavy  reckoning  soon  to  come, 

Though  dangers  do  attend  me  every  hour, 

And  ghastly  death  oft  threats  me  with  his  power: 

Sometimes  by  wounds  in  idle  combats  taken, 

Sometimes  with  agues  all  my  body  shaken; 


68          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

Sometimes  by  fevers  all  my  moisture  drinking, 
My  heart  lies  frying,  and  mine  eyes  are  sinking. 
Sometimes  the  quinsy,  painful  pleurisy, 
With  sad  affrights  of  death  doth  menace  me; 
Sometimes  the  two-fold  pox  me  sore  bemars 
With  outward  marks  and  inward  loathsome  scars; 
Sometimes  the  frenzy  strangely  mads  my  brain, 
That  oft  for  it  in  bedlam  I  remain. 
Too  many  my  diseases  to  recite. 
The  wonder  is  I  yet  behold  the  light; 
That  yet  my  bed  in  darkness  is  not  made, 
And  I  in  black  oblivion's  den  now  laid  — 
Of  aches  my  bones  are  full,  of  woe  my  heart 
Clapped  in  that  prison  never  thence  to  start. 
Thus  I  have  said;  and  what  I  Jve  been,  you  see. 
Childhood  and  Youth  are  vain,  yea,  vanity. 

MIDDLE   AGE. 

Childhood  and  Youth,  forgot,  I  *ve  sometime  seen, 
And  now  am  grown  more  staid  who  have  been  green. 
What  they  have  done,  the  same  was  done  by  me; 
As  was  their  praise  or  shame,  so  mine  must  be. 
Now  age  is  more,  more  good  you  may  expe6l; 
But  more  mine  age,  the  more  is  my  defect. 
When  my  wild  oats  were  sown,  and  ripe,  and  mown, 
I  then  received  an  harvest  of  mine  own. 
My  reason  then  bade  judge  how  little  hope 
My  empty  seed  should  yield  a  better  crop. 


The  Four  Ages  69 

Then  with  both  hands  I  grasped  the  world  together, 

Thus  out  of  one  extreme  into  another; 

But  yet  laid  hold  on  virtue  seemingly  — 

Who  climbs  without  hold,  climbs  dangerously. 

Be  my  condition  mean,  I  then  take  pains 

My  family  to  keep,  but  not  for  gains. 

A  father  I,  for  children  must  provide; 

But  if  none,  then  for  kindred  near  allied. 

If  rich,  I  'm  urged  then  to  gather  more 

To  bear  a  part  in  the  world,  and  feed  the  poor. 

If  noble,  then  mine  honor  to  maintain; 

If  not,  riches  nobility  can  gain. 

For  time,  for  place,  likewise  for  each  relation, 

I  wanted  not  my  ready  allegation. 

Yet  all  my  powers  for  self  ends  are  not  spent; 

For  hundreds  bless  me  for  my  bounty  lent 

Whose  backs  I  've  clothed  and  bellies  I  have  fed 

With  mine  own  fleece  and  with  my  household  bread. 

Yea,  justice  have  I  done;  was  I  in  place 

To  cheer  the  good,  and  wicked  to  deface. 

The  proud  I  crushed,  the  oppressed  I  set  free, 

The  liars  curbed,  but  nourished  verity. 

Was  I  a  pastor,  I  my  flock  did  feed, 

And  gently  led  the  lambs  as  they  had  need. 

A  captain  I,  with  skill  I  trained  my  band, 

And  showed  them  how  in  face  of  foes  to  stand. 

A  soldier  I,  with  speed  I  did  obey 

As  readily  as  could  my  leader  say. 


70          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Was  I  a  laborer,  I  wrought  all  day 

As  cheerfully  as  e'er  I  took  my  pay. 

Thus  hath  mine  age  in  all  sometimes  done  well; 

Sometimes  again  mine  age  been  worse  than  hell  — 

In  meanness,  greatness,  riches,  poverty, 

Did  toil,  did  broil,  oppressed,  did  steal  and  lie. 

Was  I  as  poor  as  poverty  could  be, 

Then  baseness  was  companion  unto  me, 

Such  scum  as  hedges  and  highways  do  yield, 

As  neither  sow,  nor  reap,  nor  plant,  nor  build. 

If  to  agriculture  I  was  ordained, 

Great  labors,  sorrows,  crosses,  I  sustained. 

The  early  cock  did  summon  but  in  vain 

My  wakeful  thoughts  up  to  my  painful  gain. 

My  weary  beast  rest  from  his  toil  can  find; 

But  if  I  rest  the  more  distressed  my  mind. 

If  happiness  my  sordidness  hath  found, 

'  T  was  in  the  crop  of  my  manured  ground, 

My  thriving  cattle  and  my  new  milch  cow, 

My  fleeced  sheep,  and  fruitful  farrowing  sow. 

To  greater  things  I  never  did  aspire; 

My  dunghill  thoughts  or  hopes  could  reach  no  higher. 

If  to  be  rich  or  great  it  was  my  fate, 

How  was  I  broiled  with  envy  and  with  hate! 

Greater  than  was  the  greatest,  was  my  desire, 

And  thirst  for  honor  set  my  heart  on  fire; 

And  by  ambition's  sails  I  was  so  carried 

That  over  flats,  and  sands,  and  rocks  I  hurried  — 


The  Four  Ages  71 

Oppressed,  and  sunk,  and  staved  all  in  my  way 

That  did  oppose  me  to  my  longed  bay. 

My  thirst  was  higher  than  nobility  — 

I  oft  longed  sore  to  taste  of  royalty. 

Then  kings  must  be  deposed  or  put  to  flight, 

I  might  possess  that  throne  which  was  their  right; 

There  set,  I  rid  myself  straight  out  of  hand 

Of  such  competitors  as  might  in  time  withstand, 

Then  thought  my  state  firm  founded,  sure  to  last. 

But  in  a  trice  't  is  ruined  by  a  blast; 

Though  cemented  with  more  than  noble  blood, 

The  bottom  naught,  and  so  no  longer  stood. 

Sometimes  vain  glory  is  the  only  bait 

Whereby  my  empty  soul  is  lured  and  caught. 

Be  I  of  wit,  of  learning,  and  of  parts, 

I  judge  I  should  have  room  in  all  men's  hearts. 

And  envy  gnaws  if  any  do  surmount: 

I  hate  not  to  be  held  in  highest  account. 

If,  Bias  like,  I  Jm  stripped  unto  my  skin, 

I  glory  in  my  wealth  I  have  within. 

Thus  good  and  bad,  and  what  I  am,  you  see. 

Now,  in  a  word,  what  my  diseases  be: 

The  vexing  stone  in  bladder  and  in  reins; 

The  strangury  torments  me  with  sore  pains; 

The  windy  colic  oft  my  bowels  rend 

To  break  the  darksome  prison  where  it  Js  penned; 

The  cramp  and  gout  doth  sadly  torture  me, 

And  the  restraining  lame  sciatica; 


72          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

The  asthma,  megrim,  palsy,  lethargy, 
The  quartan  ague,  dropsy,  lunacy: 
Subject  to  all  distempers,  that  's  the  truth, 
Though  some  more  incident  to  Age  or  Youth. 
And  to  conclude  I  may  not  tedious  be: 
Man  at  his  best  estate  is  vanity. 

OLD   AGE. 

What  you  have  been,  e'en  such  have  I  before; 
And  all  you  say,  say  I,  and  somewhat  more. 
Babe's  innocence,  Youth's  wildness,  I  have  seen, 
And  in  perplexed  Middle  Age  have  been; 
Sickness,  dangers,  anxieties,  have  passed, 
And  on  this  stage  am  come  to  aft  my  last. 
I  have  been  young,  and  strong,  and  wise  as  you, 
But  now  Bis  pueri  senes  is  too  true. 
In  every  age  I  've  found  much  vanity; 
An  end  of  all  perfection  now  I  see. 
It 's  not  my  valor,  honor,  nor  my  gold 
My  ruined  house,  now  falling,  can  uphold; 
It's  not  my  learning,  rhetoric,  wit  so  large 
Hath  now  the  power  death's  warfare  to  discharge; 
It 's  not  my  goodly  state,  nor  bed  of  down, 
That  can  refresh  or  ease  if  conscience  frown; 
Nor  from  alliance  can  I  now  have  hope. 
But  what  I  have  done  well,  that  is  my  prop. 
He  that  in  youth  is  godly,  wise,  and  sage 
Provides  a  staff  then  to  support  his  age. 


The  Four  Ages  73 

Mutations  great,  some  joyful  and  some  sad, 

In  this  short  pilgrimage  I  oft  have  had. 

Sometimes  the  heavens  with  plenty  smiled  on  me; 

Sometimes,  again,  rained  all  adversity; 

Sometimes  in  honor,  sometimes  in  disgrace; 

Sometimes  an  abject,  then  again  in  place. 

Such  private  changes  oft  mine  eyes  have  seen. 

In  various  times  of  state  I  've  also  been: 

I  *ve  seen  a  kingdom  flourish  like  a  tree, 

When  it  was  ruled  by  that  celestial  she, 

And,  like  a  cedar,  others  so  surmount 

That  but  for  shrubs  they  did  themselves  account. 

Then  saw  I  France  and  Holland  saved,  Calais  won, 

And  Philip  and  Albertus  half  undone. 

I  saw  all  peace  at  home,  terror  to  foes. 

But,  ah!  I  saw  at  last  those  eyes  to  close; 

And  then  methought  the  day  at  noon  grew  dark 

When  it  had  lost  that  radiant  sun-like  spark. 

In  midst  of  griefs  I  saw  our  hopes  revive, 

For  Jt  was  our  hopes  then  kept  our  hearts  alive. 

We  changed  our  queen  for  king,  under  whose  rays 

We  joyed  in  many  blest  and  prosperous  days. 

I  *ve  seen  a  prince,  the  glory  of  our  land, 

In  prime  of  youth  seized  by  heaven's  angry  hand, 

Which  filled  our  hearts  with  fears,  with  tears  our  eyes, 

Wailing  his  fate  and  our  own  destinies. 

I  *ve  seen  from  Rome  an  execrable  thing  — 

A  plot  to  blow  up  nobles  and  their  king; 


X 


74          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

But  saw  their  horrid  faft  soon  disappointed, 

And  land  and  nobles  saved,  with  their  anointed. 

I  *ve  princes  seen  to  live  on  others'  lands; 

A  royal  one  by  gifts  from  strangers'  hands 

Admired  for  their  magnanimity, 

Who  lost  a  princedom  and  a  monarchy. 

I  Jve  seen  designs  for  Re  and  Rochelle  crossed, 

And  poor  Palatinate  forever  lost. 

I  Ve  seen  unworthy  men  advanced  high, 

And  better  ones  suffer  extremity; 

But  neither  favor,  riches,  title,  state, 

Could  length  their  days  or  once  reverse  their  fate  — 

I  *ve  seen  one  stabbed,  and  some  to  lose  their  heads, 

And  others  flee,  struck  both  with  guilt  and  dread. 

I  've  seen,  and  so  have  you,  for  't  is  but  late, 

The  desolation  of  a  goodly  state, 

Plotted  and  afted  so  that  none  can  tell 

Who  gave  the  counsel  but  the  prince  of  hell  — 

Three  hundred  thousand  slaughtered  innocents 

By  bloody  popish,  hellish  miscreants. 

Oh,  may  you  live,  and  so  you  will,  I  trust, 

To  see  them  swill  in  blood  until  they  burst. 

I  *ve  seen  a  king  by  force  thrust  from  his  throne, 

And  an  usurper  subtilely  mount  thereon. 

I  *ve  seen  a  state  unmolded,  rent  in  twain; 

But  you  may  live  to  see  it  made  up  again. 

I  *ve  seen  it  plundered,  taxed,  and  soaked  in  blood; 

But  out  of  evil  you  may  see  much  good. 


The  Four  Ages  75 

What  are  my  thoughts  this  is  no  time  to  say. 

Men  may  more  freely  speak  another  day. 

These  are  no  old-wives'  tales,  but  this  is  truth; 

We  old  men  love  to  tell  what  was  done  in  youth. 

But  I  return  from  whence  I  stepped  awry. 

My  memory  is  bad,  my  brain  is  dry; 

Mine  almond  tree,  gray  hairs,  do  flourish  now, 

And  back,  once  straight,  apace  begins  to  bow; 

My  grinders  now  are  few,  my  sight  doth  fail, 

My  skin  is  wrinkled,  and  my  cheeks  are  pale. 

No  more  rejoice  at  music's  pleasing  noise, 

But,  waking,  glad  to  hear  the  cock's  shrill  voice. 

I  cannot  scent  savors  of  pleasant  meat, 

Nor  sapors  find  in  what  I  drink  or  eat. 

My  arms  and  hands,  once  strong,  have  lost  their  might; 

I  cannot  labor,  much  less  can  I  fight. 

My  comely  legs,  once  nimble  as  the  roe, 

Now  stiff  and  numb  can  hardly  creep  or  go. 

My  heart,  sometime  as  fierce  as  lion  bold, 

Now  trembling  is,  all  fearful,  sad,  and  cold. 

My  golden  bowl  and  silver  cord  ere  long 

Shall  both  be  broke  by  racking  death  so  strong: 

Then  shall  I  go  whence  I  shall  come  no  more, 

Sons,  nephews,  leave  my  farewell  to  deplore. 

In  pleasures  and  in  labors  I  have  found 

That  earth  can  give  no  consolation  sound 

To  great,  to  rich,  to  poor,  to  young,  to  old, 

To  mean,  to  noble,  to  fearful,  or  to  bold: 


76          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

From  king  to  beggar,  all  degrees  shall  find 
But  vanity,  vexation  of  the  mind. 
Yea,  knowing  much,  the  pleasantest  life  of  all 
Hath  yet  among  those  sweets  some  bitter  gall: 
Though  reading  others'  works  doth  much  refresh, 
Yet  studying  much  brings  weariness  to  the  flesh. 
My  studies,  labors,  readings,  all  are  done, 
And  my  last  period  now  e'en  almost  run. 
Corruption  my  father  I  do  call, 
Mother  and  sisters  both  the  worms  that  crawl. 
In  my  dark  house  such  kindred  I  have  store 
Where  I  shall  rest  till  heavens  shall  be  no  more. 
And  when  this  flesh  shall  rot  and  be  consumed, 
This  body  by  this  soul  shall  be  assumed, 
And  I  shall  see  with  these  same  very  eyes 
My  strong  Redeemer  coming  in  the  skies. 
Triumph  I  shall  o'er  sin,  o'er  death,  o'er  hell. 
And  in  that  hope  I  bid  you  all  farewell. 


,ssss  ;*»Mf*'si(!»;--* .*•  *+  •  -  *•?-+,+  P;  BE  EH  as  SETS  si 

ri^v^f^.*-^  ll^g^l^'*8^!!^81*^! 
&V.V4  t&y>M          ffij*iSlr&& 

»  %*^  gl  .  j !'»»  ^,|P  fff  5.%*&  '0al 


THE    FOUR    SEASONS   OF   THE    YEAR. 

SPRING. 

Another  four  I  *ve  left  yet  to  bring  on, 

Of  four  times  four  the  last  quaternion, 

The  Winter,  Summer,  Autumn,  and  the  Spring; 

In  season  all  these  seasons  I  shall  bring. 

Sweet  Spring,  like  man  in  his  minority, 

At  present  claimed  and  had  priority. 

With  smiling  face,  and  garments  somewhat  green, 

She  trimmed  her  locks,  which  late  had  frosted  been; 

Nor  hot  nor  cold  she  spake,  but  with  a  breath 

Fit  to  revive  the  numbed  earth  from  death. 

"  Three  months,"  quoth  she,  "are  allotted  to  my 

share  — 

March,  April,  May  of  all  the  rest  most  fair. 
Tenth  of  the  first,  Sol  into  Aries  enters, 
And  bids  defiance  to  all  tedious  winters; 
Crosses  the  line,  and  equals  night  and  day; 
Still  adds  to  the  last  till  after  pleasant  May; 
And  now  makes  glad  the  darkened  northern  wights 
Who  for  some  months  have  seen  but  starry  lights. 

77 


78         The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Brads treet 

Now  goes  the  plowman  to  his  merry  toil 
He  might  unloose  his  winter-locked  soil. 
The  seedsman,  too,  doth  lavish  out  his  grain 
In  hope  the  more  he  casts  the  more  to  gain. 
The  gardener  now  superfluous  branches  lops, 
And  poles  erefts  for  his  young  clambering  hops; 
Now  digs,  then  sows  his  herbs,  his  flowers,  and  roots, 
And  carefully  manures  his  trees  of  fruits. 
The  Pleiades  their  influence  now  give, 
And  all  that  seemed  as  dead  afresh  do  live: 
The  croaking  frogs,  whom  nipping  winter  killed, 
Like  birds  now  chirp  and  hop  about  the  field. 
The  nightingale,  the  blackbird,  and  the  thrush 
Now  tune  their  lays  on  sprays  of  every  bush. 
The  wanton  frisking  kids  and  soft-fleeced  lambs 
Do  jump  and  play  before  their  feeding  dams; 
The  tender  tops  of  budding  grass  they  crop; 
They  joy  in  what  they  have,  but  more  in  hope  — 
For  though  the  frost  hath  lost  his  binding  power, 
Yet  many  a  fleece  of  snow  and  stormy  shower 
Doth  darken  Sol's  bright  eye,  makes  us  remember 
The  pinching  north-west  wind  of  cold  December. 
My  second  month  is  April,  green  and  fair, 
Of  longer  days,  and  a  more  temperate  air. 
The  sun  in  Taurus  keeps  his  residence, 
And  with  his  warmer  beams  glanceth  from  thence. 
This  is  the  month  whose  fruitful  showers  produces 
All  set  and  sown  for  all  delights  and  uses. 


The  Four  Seasons  79 

The  pear,  the  plum,  and  apple-tree  now  flourish; 

The  grass  grows  long  the  hungry  beast  to  nourish. 

The  primrose  pale  and  azure  violet 

Among  the  verdurous  grass  hath  nature  set, 

That  when  the  sun  on  his  love — the  earth — doth  shine 

These  might  as  lace  set  out  her  garment  fine. 

The  fearful  bird  his  little  house  now  builds 

In  trees  and  walls,  in  cities  and  in  fields; 

The  outside  strong,  the  inside  warm  and  neat  — 

A  natural  artificer  complete. 

The  clucking  hen  her  chirping  chickens  leads; 

With  wings  and  beak  defends  them  from  the  gleads. 

My  next  and  last  is  fruitful  pleasant  May, 

Wherein  the  earth  is  clad  in  rich  array. 

The  sun  now  enters  loving  Gemini, 

And  heats  us  with  the  glances  of  his  eye; 

Our  thicker  raiment  makes  us  lay  aside, 

Lest  by  his  fervor  we  be  torrefied. 

All  flowers  the  sun  now  with  his  beams  discloses 

Except  the  double  pinks  and  matchless  roses. 

Now  swarms  the  busy,  witty  honey-bee, 

Whose  praise  deserves  a  page  from  more  than  me. 

The  cleanly  housewife's  dairy's  now  in  the  prime, 

Her  shelves  and  firkins  filled  for  winter-time. 

The  meads  with  cowslips,  honeysuckles,  dight, 

One  hangs  his  head,  the  other  stands  upright; 

But  both  rejoice  at  heaven's  clear  smiling  face, 

More  at  her  showers,  which  water  them  a  space. 


80          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

For  fruits  my  season  yields  the  early  cherry, 

The  hasty  pea,  and  wholesome  cool  strawberry. 

More  solid  fruits  require  a  longer  time; 

Each  season  hath  his  fruit,  so  hath  each  clime  — 

Each  man  his  own  peculiar  excellence, 

But  none  in  all  that  hath  preeminence." 

Sweet  fragrant  Spring,  with  thy  short  pittance  fly. 

Let  some  describe  thee  better  than  can  I. 

Yet  above  all  this  privilege  is  thine, 

Thy  days  still  lengthen  without  least  decline. 


SUMMER. 

When  Spring  had  done,  then  Summer  did  begin, 
With  melted,  tawny  face  and  garments  thin, 
Resembling  Fire,  Choler,  and  Middle  Age, 
As  Spring  did  Air,  Blood,  Youth  in  his  equipage. 
Wiping  the  sweat  from  off  her  face  that  ran, 
With  hair  all  wet,  puffing,  she  thus  began: 
"  Bright  June,  July,  and  August  hot  are  mine. 
In  the  first  Sol  doth  in  crabbed  Cancer  shine; 
His  progress  to  the  north  now  *s  fully  done; 
Then  retrograde  must  be  my  burning  sun, 
Who  to  his  southward  tropic  still  is  bent, 
Yet  doth  his  parching  heat  but  more  augment 
Though  he  decline,  because  his  flames  so  fair 
Have  throughly  dried  the  earth  and  heat  the  air. 


Tbe  Four  Seasons  81 

Like  as  an  oven  that  long  time  hath  been  heat, 
Whose  vehemency  at  length  doth  grow  so  great 
That  if  you  do  withdraw  her  burning  store 
'T  is  for  a  time  as  fervent  as  before. 
Now  go  those  frolic  swains,  the  shepherd  lads, 
TO  wash  their  thick-clothed  flocks,  with  pipes  full  glad. 
In  the  cool  streams  they  labor  with  delight, 
Rubbing  the  dirty  coats  till  they  look  white, 
Whose  fleece  when  finely  spun  and  deeply  dyed 
With  robes  thereof  kings  have  been  dignified. 
Blest  rustic  swains,  your  pleasant,  quiet  life 
Hath  envy  bred  in  kings  that  were  at  strife; 
Careless  of  worldly  wealth  you  sing  and  pipe, 
While  they  're  embroiled  in  wars  and  troubles  rife; 
Which  made  great  Bajazet  cry  out  in  his  woes, 
'  O  happy  shepherd,  which  hath  not  to  lose 
Orthobulus,  nor  yet  Sebastia  great, 
But  whistleth  to  thy  flock  in  cold  and  heat; 
Viewing  the  sun  by  day,  the  moon  by  night, 
Endymion's,  Diana's,  dear  delight; 
Upon  the  grass  resting  your  healthy  limb, 
By  purling  brooks  looking  how  fishes  swim. 
If  pride  within  your  lowly  cells  e'er  haunt, 
Of  Him  that  was  Shepherd,  then  King,  go  vaunt.' 
This  month  the  roses  are  distilled  in  glasses, 
Whose  fragrant  smell  all  made  perfumes  surpasses. 
The  cherry,  gooseberry,  now  are  in  their  prime, 
And  for  all  sorts  of  pease  this  is  the  time. 
6 


82          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

July  's  my  next,  the  hottest  in  all  the  year. 
The  sun  through  Leo  now  takes  his  career, 
Whose  flaming  breath  doth  melt  us  from  afar, 
Increased  by  the  star  canicular. 
This  month  from  Julius  Csesar  took  its  name, 
By  Romans  celebrated  to  his  fame. 
Now  go  the  mowers  to  their  slashing  toil, 
The  meadows  of  their  riches  to  despoil; 
With  weary  strokes  they  take  all  in  their  way, 
Bearing  the  burning  heat  of  the  long  day. 
The  forks  and  rakes  do  follow  them  amain, 
Which  makes  the  aged  fields  look  young  again. 
The  groaning  carts  do  bear  away  this  prize 
To  stacks  and  barns,  where  it  for  fodder  lies. 
My  next  and  last  is  August,  fiery  hot, 
For  much  the  southward  sun  abateth  not. 
This  month  he  keeps  with  Virgo  for  a  space; 
The  dried  earth  is  parched  with  his  face. 
August  of  great  Augustus  took  its  name, 
Rome's  second  emperor,  of  lasting  fame. 
With  sickles  now  the  bending  reapers  go 
The  ruffling  tress  of  terra  down  to  mow, 
And  bundle  up  in  sheaves  the  weighty  wheat 
Which,  after,  manchet  makes  for  kings  to  eat. — 
The  barley,  rye,  and  pease  should  first  had  place, 
Although  their  bread  have  not  so  white  a  face. 
The  carter  leads  all  home  with  whistling  voice; 
He  plowed  with  pain,  but,  reaping,  doth  rejoice; 


The  Four  Seasons  83 

His  sweat,  his  toil,  his  careful,  wakeful  nights, 
His  fruitful  crop  abundantly  requites. 
Now  Js  ripe  the  pear,  pear-plum,  and  apricock, 
The  prince  of  plums,  whose  stone  's  as  hard  as  rock." 

The  Summer  seems  but  short;  the  Autumn  hastes 
To  shake  his  fruits,  of  most  delicious  tastes, 
Like  good  Old  Age,  whose  younger  juicy  roots 
Hath  still  ascended  to  bear  goodly  fruits 
Until  his  head  be  gray  and  strength  be  gone. 
Yet  then  appear  the  worthy  deeds  he  hath  done: 
To  feed  his  boughs  exhausted  he  his  sap, 
Then  dropped  his  fruits  into  the  eater's  lap. 


AUTUMN. 

"  Of  Autumn's  months  September  is  the  prime; 
Now  day  and  night  are  equal  in  each  clime. 
The  twelfth  of  this  Sol  riseth  in  the  line, 
And  doth  in  poising  Libra  this  month  shine. 
The  vintage  now  is  ripe;  the  grapes  are  pressed, 
Whose  lively  liquor  oft  is  cursed  and  blessed. 
For  naught  so  good  but  it  may  be  abused; 
But  it 's  a  precious  juice  when  well  it 's  used. 
The  raisins  now  in  clusters  dried  be, 
The  orange,  lemon,  dangle  on  the  tree; 
The  pomegranate,  the  fig,  are  ripe  also, 
And  apples  now  their  yellow  sides  do  show. 


84         The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Of  almonds,  quinces,  wardens,  and  the  peach 

The  season  's  now  at  hand  of  all  and  each. 

Sure  at  this  time  time  first  of  all  began, 

And  in  this  month  was  made  apostate  man; 

For  then  in  Eden  was  not  only  seen 

Boughs  full  of  leaves,  or  fruits  unripe  or  green, 

Or  withered  stocks  which  were  all  dry  and  dead, 

But  trees  with  goodly  fruits  replenished; 

Which  shows  nor  Summer,  Winter,  nor  the  Spring 

Our  grandsire  was  of  Paradise  made  king. 

Nor  could  that  temperate  clime  such  difference 

make, 

If  sited  as  the  most  judicious  take. 
October  is  my  next.    We  hear  in  this 
The  northern  winter-blasts  begin  to  hiss. 
In  Scorpio  resideth  now  the  sun, 
And  his  declining  heat  is  almost  done. 
The  fruitless  trees  all  withered  now  do  stand, 
Whose  sapless  yellow  leaves  by  winds  are  fanned, 
Which  notes  when  youth  and  strength  have  passed 

their  prime 

Decrepit  age  must  also  have  its  time. 
The  sap  doth  slyly  creep  towards  the  earth, 
There  rests  until  the  sun  give  it  a  birth. 
So  doth  Old  Age  still  tend  unto  his  grave, 
Where  also  he  his  winter-time  must  have; 
But  when  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  draws  nigh, 
His  dead  old  stock  shall  mount  again  on  high. 


The  Four  Seasons  85 

November  is  my  last,  for  time  doth  haste. 

We  now  of  Winter's  sharpness  'gin  to  taste. 

This  month  the  sun  Js  in  Sagittarius, 

So  far  remote  his  glances  warm  not  us. 

Almost  at  shortest  is  the  shortened  day. 

The  Northern  Pole  beholdeth  not  one  ray. 

Now  Greenland  (Gronland),  Finland,  Lapland,  see 

No  sun  to  lighten  their  obscurity  — 

Poor  wretches  that  in  total  darkness  lie, 

With  minds  more  dark  than  is  the  darkened  sky. 

Beef,  brawn,  and  pork  are  now  in  great  request, 

And  solid  meats  our  stomachs  can  digest. 

This  time  warm  clothes,  full  diet,  and  good  fire 

Our  pinched  flesh  and  hungry  maws  require. 

Old,  cold,  dry  Age  and  Earth  Autumn  resembles, 

And  Melancholy,  which  most  of  all  dissembles. 

I  must  be  short,  and  short 's  the  shortened  day. 

What  Winter  hath  to  tell,  now  let  him  say." 

WINTER. 

Cold,  moist,  young  phlegmy  Winter  now  doth  lie 
In  swaddling  clouts,  like  new-born  infancy; 
Bound  up  with  frosts,  and  furred  with  hail  and  snows, 
And,  like  an  infant,  still  he  taller  grows. 
"  December  is  my  first,  and  now  the  sun 
To  the  southward  tropic  his  swift  race  doth  run. 
This  month  he's  housed  in  horned  Capricorn; 
From  thence  begins  to  length  the  shortened  morn. 
6A 


86          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

Through  Christendom  with  great  festivity 
Now  Js  held  a  guessed  but  blest  Nativity. 
Cold,  frozen  January  next  comes  in, 
Chilling  the  blood  and  shrinking  up  the  skin. 
In  Aquarius  now  keeps  the  long  wished  sun, 
And  northward  his  unwearied  course  doth  run; 
The  day  much  longer  than  it  was  before, 
The  cold  not  lessened,  but  augmented  more. 
Now  toes,  and  ears,  and  fingers  often  freeze, 
And  travelers  their  noses  sometimes  leese. 
Moist,  snowy  February  is  my  last. 
I  care  not  how  the  winter-time  doth  haste. 
In  Pisces  now  the  golden  sun  doth  shine, 
And  northward  still  approaches  to  the  line. 
The  rivers  begin  to  ope,  the  snows  to  melt, 
And  some  warm  glances  from  his  face  are  felt; 
Which  is  increased  by  the  lengthened  day, 
Till  by  his  heat  he  drive  all  cold  away," 

And  thus  the  year  in  circle  runneth  round. 

Where  first  it  did  begin,  in  the  end  it 's  found. 

My  subject  's  bare,  my  brain  is  bad, 

Or  better  lines  you  should  have  had. 

The  first  fell  in  so  naturally, 

I  knew  not  how  to  pass  it  by; 

The  last,  though  bad,  I  could  not  mend. 

Accept,  therefore,  of  what  is  penned, 

And  all  the  faults  that  you  shall  spy 

Shall  at  your  feet  for  pardon  cry. 


THE    FOUR    MONARCHIES. 
THE      ASSYRIAN      BEING      THE      FIRST, 
BEGINNING     UNDER      NIMROD,     ONE 
HUNDRED    AND    THIRTY-ONE    YEARS 
AFTER   THE   FLOOD. 

When  time  was  young,  and  the  world  in  infancy, 
Man  did  not  proudly  strive  for  sovereignty; 
But  each  one  thought  his  petty  rule  was  high 
If  of  his  house  he  held  the  monarchy. 
This  was  the  Golden  Age;  but  after  came 
The  boisterous  son  of  Cush,  grandchild  to  Ham, 
That  mighty  hunter  who  in  his  strong  toils 
Both  beasts  and  men  subjected  to  his  spoils, 
The  strong  foundation  of  proud  Babel  laid, 
Erech,  Accad,  and  Calneh  also  made. 
These  were  his  first;  all  stood  in  Shinar  land. 
From  thence  he  went  Assyria  to  command, 
And  mighty  Nineveh  he  there  begun, 
Not  finished  till  he  his  race  had  run; 
Resen,  Calah,  and  Rehoboth,  likewise, 
By  him  to  cities  eminent  did  rise. 
87 


88          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

Of  Saturn  he  was  the  original, 
Whom  the  succeeding  times  a  god  did  call. 
When  thus  with  rule  he  had  been  dignified, 
One  hundred  fourteen  years  he  after  died. 

BELUS. 

Great  Nimrod  dead,  Belus  the  next,  his  son, 
Confirms  the  rule  his  father  had  begun; 
Whose  afts  and  power  are  not  for  certainty 
Left  to  the  world  by  any  history. 
But  yet  this  blot  for  ever  on  him  lies  — 
He  taught  the  people  first  to  idolize. 
Titles  divine  he  to  himself  did  take. 
Alive  and  dead  a  god  they  did  him  make. 
This  is  that  Bel  the  Chaldees  worshiped, 
Whose  priests  in  stories  oft  are  mentioned; 
This  is  that  Baal  to  whom  the  Israelites 
So  oft  profanely  offered  sacred  rites; 
This  is  Beelzebub,  god  of  Ekronites; 
Likewise  Baalpeor,  of  the  Moabites. 
His  reign  was  short,  for,  as  I  calculate, 
At  twenty-five  ended  his  regal  date. 

NINUS. 

His  father  dead,  Ninus  begins  his  reign, 
Transfers  his  seat  to  the  Assyrian  plain, 
And  mighty  Nineveh  more  mighty  made 
Whose  foundation  was  by  his  grandsire  laid: 


The  Four  Monarchies  89 

Four  hundred  forty  furlongs  walled  about, 
On  which  stood  fifteen  hundred  towers  stout; 
The  walls  one  hundred  sixty  feet  upright, 
So  broad  three  chariots  run  abreast  there  might. 
Upon  the  pleasant  banks  of  Tigris'  flood 
This  stately  seat  of  warlike  Ninus  stood. 
This  Ninus  for  a  god  his  father  canonized, 
To  whom  the  sottish  people  sacrificed. 
This  tyrant  did  his  neighbors  all  oppress; 
Where'er  he  warred  he  had  too  good  success  — 
Barzanes,  the  great  Armenian  king, 
By  force  and  fraud  did  under  tribute  bring; 
The  Median  country  he  did  also  gain, 
Pharnus,  their  king,  he  caused  to  be  slain; 
An  army  of  three  millions  he  led  out 
Against  the  Baftrians  (but  that  I  doubt); 
Zoroaster,  their  king,  he  likewise  slew, 
And  all  the  greater  Asia  did  subdue. 
Semiramis  from  Menon  did  he  take; 
Then  drowned  himself  did  Menon  for  her  sake. 
Fifty-two  years  he  reigned,  as  we  are  told. 
The  world  then  was  two  thousand  nineteen  old. 

SEMIRAMIS. 

This  great  oppressing  Ninus  dead  and  gone, 
His  wife  Semiramis  usurped  the  throne; 
She  like  a  brave  virago  played  the  rex, 
And  was  both  shame  and  glory  of  her  sex. 


go         The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Her  birthplace  was  Philistia's  Ascalon, 

Her  mother  Derceto,  a  courtezan. — 

Others  report  she  was  a  vestal  nun 

Adjudged  to  be  drowned  for  the  crime  she  'd  done, 

Transformed  into  a  fish  by  Venus*  will, 

Her  beauteous  face,  they  feign,  retaining  still. 

Sure  from  this  fiftion  Dagon  first  began, 

Changing  the  woman's  face  into  a  man. 

But  all  agree  that  from  no  lawful  bed 

This  great  renowned  empress  issued; 

For  which  she  was  obscurely  nourished  — 

Whence  rose  that  fable  she  by  birds  was  fed. 

This  gallant  dame  unto  the  Ba6trian  war 

Accompanying  her  husband  Menon  far, 

Taking  a  town  such  valor  she  did  show 

That  Ninus  amorous  of  her  soon  did  grow, 

And  thought  her  fit  to  make  a  monarch's  wife, 

Which  was  the  cause  poor  Menon  lost  his  life. 

She  flourishing  with  Ninus  long  did  reign, 

Till  her  ambition  caused  him  to  be  slain 

That,  having  no  compeer,  she  might  rule  all, 

Or  else  shfe  sought  revenge  for  Menon' s  fall. 

Some  think  the  Greeks  this  slander  on  her  cast, 

As  on  her  life  licentious  and  unchaste; 

That,  undeserved,  they  blurred  her  name  and  fame 

By  their  aspersions  cast  upon  the  same. 

But  were  her  virtues  more  or  less  or  none, 

She  for  her  potency  must  go  alone. 


The  Four  Monarchies  gi 

Her  wealth  she  showed  in  building  Babylon, 

Admired  of  all,  but  equalized  of  none; 

The  wall  so  strong  and  curiously  was  wrought, 

That  after  ages  skill  by  it  was  taught. 

With  towers  and  bulwarks  made  of  costly  stone, 

Quadrangle  was  the  form  it  stood  upon. 

Each  square  was  fifteen  thousand  paces  long. 

An  hundred  gates  it  had  of  metal  strong. 

Three  hundred  sixty  feet  the  wall  in  height, 

Almost  incredible  it  was  in  breadth  — 

Some  writers  say  six  chariots  might  a-front 

With  great  facility  march  safe  upon  Jt. 

About  the  wall  a  ditch  so  deep  and  wide 

That  like  a  river  long  it  did  abide; 

Three  hundred  thousand  men  here  day  by  day 

Bestowed  their  labor  and  received  their  pay. 

And  that  which  did  all  cost  and  art  excel 

The  wondrous  temple  was  she  reared  to  Bel, 

Which  in  the  midst  of  this  brave  town  was  placed, 

Continuing  till  Xerxes  it  defaced; 

Whose  stately  top  above  the  clouds  did  rise, 

From  whence  astrologers  oft  viewed  the  skies. 

This  to  describe  in  each  particular, 

A  structure  rare  I  should  but  rudely  mar. 

Her  gardens,  bridges,  arches,  mounts,  and  spires 

Each  eye  that  saw  or  ear  that  heard  admires. 

In  Shinar  plain,  on  the  Euphratean  flood, 

This  wonder  of  the  world,  this  Babel,  stood. 


92         The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

An  expedition  to  the  east  she  made 

Stratobatis  his  country  to  invade. 

Her  army  of  four  millions  did  consist 

(Each  may  believe  it  as  his  fancy  list); 

Her  camels,  chariots,  galleys,  in  such  number 

As  puzzles  best  historians  to  remember. 

But  this  is  wonderful  —  of  all  those  men 

They  say  but  twenty  e'er  came  back  again; 

The  river  Indus  swept  them  half  away, 

The  rest  Stratobatis  in  fight  did  slay. 

This  was  last  progress  of  this  mighty  queen, 

Who  in  her  country  never  more  was  seen. 

The  poets  feigned  her  turned  into  a  dove, 

Leaving  the  world  to  Venus,  soared  above; 

Which  made  the  Assyrians  many  a  day 

A  dove  within  their  ensigns  to  display. 

Forty-two  years  she  reigned,  and  then  she  died, 

But  by  what  means  we  are  not  certified. 

NINIAS,  OR    ZAMES. 
His  mother  dead,  Ninias  obtains  his  right, 
A  prince  wedded  to  ease  and  to  delight, 
Or  else  was  his  obedience  very  great 
To  sit  thus  long,  obscure,  robbed  of  his  seat. 
Some  write  his  mother  put  his  habit  on, 
Which  made  the  people  think  they  served  her  son; 
But  much  it  is,  in  more  than  forty  years 
This  fraud  in  war  nor  peace  at  all  appears. 


The  Four  Monarchies  93 

More  like  it  is,  his  lust  with  pleasures  fed, 

He  sought  no  rule  till  she  was  gone  and  dead. 

What  then  he  did  of  worth  can  no  man  tell, 

But  is  supposed  to  be  that  Amraphel 

Who  warred  with  Sodom's  and  Gomorrah's  king, 

'Gainst  whom  his  trained  bands  Abram  did  bring. 

But  this  is  far  unlike,  he,  being  son 

Unto  a  father  that  all  countries  won, 

So  suddenly  should  lose  so  great  a  state 

With  petty  kings  to  join  confederate. 

Nor  can  those  reasons  which  wise  Raleigh  finds 

Well  satisfy  the  most  considerate  minds. 

We  may  with  learned  Usher  better  say 

He  many  ages  lived  after  that  day; 

And  that  Semiramis  then  flourished 

When  famous  Troy  was  so  beleaguered. 

Whate'er  he  was,  or  did,  or  how  it  fell, 

We  may  suggest  our  thoughts,  but  cannot  tell; 

For  Ninias  and  all  his  race  are  left 

In  deep  oblivion,  of  afts  bereft, 

And  many  hundred  years  in  silence  sit, 

Save  a  few  names  a  new  Berosus  writ. 

And  such  as  care  not  what  befalls  their  fames 

May  feign  as  many  afts  as  he  did  names. 

It  may  suffice,  if  all  be  true  that's  past. 

To  Sardanapalus  next  we  will  make  haste. 


94         The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

SARDANAPALUS. 
Sardanapalus,  son  to  Ocrazapes, 
Who  wallowed  in  all  voluptuousness, — 
That  palliardizing  sot  that  out  of  doors 
Ne'er  showed  his  face,  but  reveled  with  his  whores, 
Did  wear  their  garbs,  their  gestures  imitate, 
And  in  their  kind  to  excel  did  emulate, — 
His  baseness  knowing,  and  the  people's  hate, 
Kept  close,  fearing  his  well  deserved  fate. 
It  chanced  Arbaces  brave  unwarily 
His  master  like  a  strumpet  clad  did  spy; 
His  manly  heart  disdained  in  the  least 
Longer  to  serve  this  metamorphosed  beast. 
Unto  Belesis  then  he  brake  his  mind, 
Whom  sick  of  his  disease  he  soon  did  find. 
These  two  ruled  Media  and  Babylon; 
Both  for  their  king  held  their  dominion. 
Belesis  promised  Arbaces  aid, 
Arbaces  him  fully  to  be  repaid. 
The  last  the  Medes  and  Persians  does  invite 
Against  their  monstrous  king  to  use  their  might. 
Belesis  the  Chaldeans  doth  require 
And  the  Arabians,  to  further  his  desire. 
These  all  agree,  and  forty  thousand  make, 
The  rule  from  their  unworthy  prince  to  take. 
These  forces  mustered,  and  in  array, 
Sardanapalus  leaves  his  apish  play; 


The  Four  Monarchies  95 

And  though  of  wars  he  did  abhor  the  sight, 

Fear  of  his  diadem  did  force  him  fight; 

And  either  by  his  valor  or  his  fate 

Arbaces'  courage  he  did  so  abate 

That  in  despair  he  left  the  field  and  fled, 

But  with  fresh  hopes  Belesis  succored. 

From  Badlria  an  army  was  at  hand 

Pressed  for  this  service  by  the  king's  command. 

These  with  celerity  Arbaces  meets, 

And  with  all  terms  of  amity  them  greets; 

With  promises  their  necks  now  to  unyoke, 

And  their  taxations  sore  all  to  revoke; 

To  enfranchise  them,  to  grant  what  they  could  crave, 

No  privilege  to  want,  subjects  should  have  — 

Only  entreats  them  to  join  their  force  with  his, 

And  win  the  crown,  which  was  the  way  to  bliss. 

Won  by  his  loving  looks,  more  by  his  speech, 

To  accept  of  what  they  could  they  all  beseech. 

Both  sides  their  hearts,  their  hands,  and  bands  unite, 

And  set  upon  their  prince's  camp  that  night; 

Who,  reveling  in  cups,  sung  care  away 

For  viftory  obtained  the  other  day, 

And  now,  surprised  by  this  unlooked-for  fright, 

Bereft  of  wits,  are  slaughtered  downright. 

The  king  his  brother  leaves  all  to  sustain, 

And  speeds  himself  to  Nineveh  amain. 

But,  Salmoneus  slain,  the  army  falls; 

The  king  's  pursued  unto  the  city's  walls. 


96          The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

But  he  once  in,  pursuers  came  too  late, 

The  walls  and  gates  their  haste  did  terminate. 

There  with  all  store  he  was  so  well  provided 

That  what  Arbaces  did  was  but  derided, 

Who  there  encamped  two  years  for  little  end. 

But  in  the  third  the  river  proved  his  friend; 

For  by  the  rain  was  Tigris  so  overflown 

Part  of  that  stately  wall  was  overthrown. 

Arbaces  marches  in,  the  town  he  takes, 

For  few  or  none,  it  seems,  resistance  makes. 

And  now  they  saw  fulfilled  a  prophecy, 

That  when  the  river  proved  their  enemy 

Their  strong  walled  town  should  suddenly  be  taken. 

By  this  accomplishment  their  hearts  were  shaken. 

Sardanapalus  did  not  seek  to  fly 

This  his  inevitable  destiny; 

But  all  his  wealth  and  friends  together  gets, 

Then  on  himself  and  them  a  fire  he  sets. 

This  was  last  monarch  of  great  Ninus'  race, 

That  for  twelve  hundred  years  had  held  the  place; 

Twenty  he  reigned,  same  time,  as  stories  tell, 

That  Amaziah  was  king  of  Israel. 

His  father  was  then  king,  as  we  suppose, 

When  Jonah  for  their  sins  denounced  those  woes; 

He  did  repent,  the  threatening  was  not  done, 

But  now  accomplished  in  his  wicked  son. 

Arbaces,  thus  of  all  becoming  lord, 

Ingenuously  with  all  did  keep  his  word. 


The  Four  Monarchies  97 

Of  Babylon  Belesis  he  made  king, 

With  overplus  of  all  the  wealth  therein. 

To  Baftrians  he  gave  their  liberty. 

Of  Ninevites  he  caused  none  to  die, 

But  suffered  with  their  goods  to  go  elsewhere, 

Not  granting  them  now  to  inhabit  there; 

For  he  demolished  that  city  great, 

And  unto  Media  transferred  his  seat. 

Such  was  his  promise  which  he  firmly  made 

To  Medes  and  Persians  when  he  craved  their  aid. 

A  while  he  and  his  race  aside  must  stand, 

Not  pertinent  to  what  we  have  in  hand; 

And  Belochus  in  his  progeny  pursue, 

Who  did  this  monarchy  begin  anew. 

BELESIS,    OR    BELOCHUS. 

Belesis  settled  in  his  new  old  seat 
Not  so  content,  but  aiming  to  be  great, 
Encroaching  still  upon  the  bordering  lands 
Till  Mesopotamia  he  got  in  his  hands. 
And,  either  by  compound  or  else  by  strength, 
Assyria  he  gained  also  at  length; 
Then  did  rebuild  destroyed  Nineveh, 
A  costly  work  which  none  could  do  but  he 
Who  owned  the  treasures  of  proud  Babylon 
And  those  that  seemed  with  Sardanapalus  gone. 
For  though  his  palace  did  in  ashes  lie, 
The  fire  those  metals  could  not  damnify; 
7 


98         The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

From  rubbish  these  with  diligence  he  rakes. 

Arbaces  suffers  all,  and  all  he  takes. 

He,  thus  enriched  by  this  new-tried  gold, 

Raises  a  phenix  new  from  grave  of  the  old; 

And  from  this  heap  did  after  ages  see 

As  fair  a  town  as  the  first  Nineveh. 

When  this  was  built,  and  matters  all  in  peace, 

Molests  poor  Israel,  his  wealth  to  increase: 

A  thousand  talents  of  Menahem  had, 

Who  to  be  rid  of  such  a  guest  was  glad. 

In  sacred  writ  he  's  known  by  name  of  Pul, 

Which  makes  the  world  of  difference  so  full 

That  he  and  Belochus  could  not  one  be; 

But  circumstance  doth  prove  the  verity, 

And  times  of  both  computed  so  fall  out 

That  these  two  made  but  one  we  need  not  doubt. 

What  else  he  did  his  empire  to  advance 

To  rest  content  we  must  in  ignorance. 

Forty-eight  years  he  reigned,  his  race  then  run. 

He  left  his  new-got  kingdom  to  his  son. 

TIGLATH-PILESER. 

Belesis  dead,  Tiglath,  his  warlike  son, 

Next  treads  those  steps  by  which  his  father  won. 

Damascus,  ancient  seat  of  famous  kings, 

Under  subjection  by  his  sword  he  brings; 

Rezin,  their  valiant  king,  he  also  slew, 

And  Syria  to  obedience  did  subdue. 


The  Four  Monarchies  99 

Judah's  bad  king  occasioned  this  war 

When  Rezin' s  force  his  borders  sore  did  mar 

And  divers  cities  by  strong  hand  did  seize. 

To  Tiglath  then  doth  Ahaz  send  for  ease; 

The  temple  robs  so  to  fulfil  his  ends, 

And  to  Assyria's  king  a  present  sends. 

"  I  am  thy  servant  and  thy  son,"  quoth  he; 

"From  Rezin  and  from  Pekah  set  me  free." 

Gladly  doth  Tiglath  this  advantage  take, 

And  succors  Ahaz,  yet  for  Tiglath' s  sake. 

Then,  Rezin  slain,  his  army  overthrown, 

He  Syria  makes  a  province  of  his  own. 

Unto  Damascus  then  comes  Judah's  king 

His  humble  thankfulness  in  haste  to  bring, 

Acknowledging  the  Assyrian's  high  desert, 

To  whom  he  ought  all  loyalty  of  heart. 

But  Tiglath,  having  gained  his  wished  end, 

Proves  unto  Ahaz  but  a  feigned  friend; 

All  Israel's  lands  beyond  Jordan  he  takes, 

In  Galilee  he  woeful  havoc  makes. 

Through  Syria  now  he  marched;  none  stopped  his  way, 

And  Ahaz  open  at  his  mercy  lay, 

Who  still  implored  his  love,  but  was  distressed. 

This  was  that  Ahaz  who  so  high  transgressed. 

Thus  Tiglath  reigned  and  warred  twenty-seven  years. 

Then  by  his  death  released  were  Israel's  fears. 


I  oo       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

SALMANAZAR,    OR    NABONASSAR. 
Tiglath  deceased,  Salmanassar  was  next. 
He  Israelites  more  than  his  father  vexed. 
Hosea,  their  last  king,  he  did  invade, 
And  him  six  years  his  tributary  made. 
But,  weary  of  his  servitude,  he  sought 
To  Egypt's  king,  which  did  avail  him  naught; 
For  Salmanassar,  with  a  mighty  host, 
Besieged  his  regal  town,  and  spoiled  his  coast, 
And  did  the  people,  nobles,  and  their  king 
Into  perpetual  thraldom  that  time  bring. 
Those  that  from  Joshua's  time  had  been  a  state 
Did  justice  now  by  him  eradicate; 
This  was  that  strange,  degenerated  brood 
On  whom  nor  threats  nor  mercies  could  do  good. 
Laden  with  honor,  prisoners,  and  spoil, 
Returns  triumphant  viftor  to  his  soil; 
He  placed  Israel  there  where  he  thought  best, 
Then  sent  his  colonies  theirs  to  invest. 
Thus  Jacob's  sons  in  exile  must  remain, 
And  pleasant  Canaan  never  see  again. 
Where  now  those  ten  tribes  are  can  no  man  tell, 
Or  how  they  fare,  rich,  poor,  or  ill,  or  well; 
Whether  the  Indians  of  the  East  or  West, 
Or  wild  Tartarians,  as  yet  ne'er  blest, 
Or  else  those  Chinese  rare,  whose  wealth  and  arts 
Have  bred  more  wonder  than  belief  in  hearts. 


The  Four  Monarchies  101 

But  what  or  where  they  are,  yet  know  we  this  — 
They  shall  return,  and  Sion  see  with  bliss. 

SENNACHERIB. 

Sennacherib  Salmanassar  succeeds, 

Whose  haughty  heart  is  shown  in  words  and  deeds. 

His  wars  none  better  than  himself  can  boast, 

On  Hena,  Arpad,  and  on  Judah's  coast, 

On  I  van's  and  on  Sepharvaim's  gods; 

'Twixt  them  and  Israel's  he  knew  no  odds 

Until  the  thundering  hand  of  heaven  he  felt, 

Which  made  his  army  into  nothing  melt. 

With  shame  he  turned  to  Nineveh  again, 

And  by  his  sons  in  his  idols'  house  was  slain. 

ESARHADDON. 

His  son,  weak  Esarhaddon,  reigned  in  his  place, 
The  fifth  and  last  of  great  Belesis'  race. 
Brave  Merodach,  the  son  of  Baladan, 
In  Babylon  lieutenant  to  this  man, 
Of  opportunity  advantage  takes, 
And  on  his  master's  ruins  his  house  makes; 
As  Belesis  his  sovereign  did  unthrone, 
So  he  's  now  styled  the  king  of  Babylon. 
After  twelve  years  did  Esarhaddon  die, 
And  Merodach  assumed  the  monarchy. 


UNIVERSITY 


loz       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

MER  ODACH-BALADAN. 

All  yield  to  him  but  Nineveh,  kept  free 
Until  his  grandchild  made  her  bow  the  knee. 
Ambassadors  to  Hezekiah  he  sent, 
His  health  to  congratulate  with  compliment. 

BEN-MERODACH. 

Ben-Merodach,  successor  to  this  king, 
Of  him  is  little  said  in  anything, 
But  by  conjecture  this,  that  none  but  he 
Led  King  Manasseh  to  captivity. 

NABOPOLASSAR. 
Brave  Nabopolassar  to  this  king  was  son. 
The  famous  Nineveh  by  him  was  won; 
For  fifty  years,  or  more,  she  had  been  free, 
But  yields  her  neck  now  to  captivity. 
A  viceroy  from  her  foe  she  '  s  glad  to  accept, 
By  whom  in  firm  obedience  she  's  kept. 
This  king  's  less  famed  for  all  the  a£ts  he  's  done 
Than  being  father  to  so  great  a  son. 

NEB  UCHADNEZZAR. 

The  famous  afts  of  this  heroic  king 
Did  neither  Homer,  Hesiod,  Virgil,  sing; 
Nor  of  his  wars  have  we  the  certainty 
From  some  Thucydides'  grave  history; 
Nor  his  metamorphosis  from  Ovid's  book, 
Nor  his  restoring  from  old  legends  took; 


The  Four  Monarchies  103 

But  by  the  prophets,  penmen  most  divine, 

This  prince  in  his  magnitude  doth  ever  shine. 

This  was  of  monarchies  that  head  of  gold, 

The  richest  and  the  dreadfullest  to  behold; 

This  was  that  tree  whose  branches  filled  the  earth, 

Under  whose  shadow  birds  and  beasts  had  birth; 

This  was  that  king  of  kings  did  what  he  pleased, 

Killed,  saved,  pulled  down,  set  up,  or  pained,  or  eased; 

And  this  was  he  who,  when  he  feared  the  least, 

Was  changed  from  a  king  into  a  beast. 

This  prince  the  last  years  of  his  father's  reign 

Against  Jehoiakim  marched  with  his  train. 

Judah's  poor  king,  besieged  and  succorless, 

Yields  to  his  mercy,  and  the  present  stress; 

His  vassal  is,  gives  pledges  for  his  truth, 

Children  of  royal  blood,  unblemished  youth. 

Wise  Daniel  and  his  fellows,  'mongst  the  rest, 

By  the  vi&orious  king  to  Babel  are  pressed; 

The  temple  of  rich  ornaments  he  defaced, 

And  in  his  idols'  house  the  vessels  placed. 

The  next  year  he,  with  unresisted  hand, 

Quite  vanquished  Pharaoh-Necho  with  his  band: 

By  great  Euphrates  did  his  army  fall, 

Which  was  the  loss  of  Syria  withal. 

Then  into  Egypt  Necho  did  retire, 

Which  in  few  years  proves  the  Assyrian's  hire. 

A  mighty  army  next  he  doth  prepare, 

And  unto  wealthy  Tyre  in  haste  repair. 


104       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

Such  was  the  situation  of  this  place, 

As  might  not  him,  but  all  the  world,  outface, 

That  in  her  pride  she  knew  not  which  to  boast  — 

Whether  her  wealth  or  yet  her  strength  was  most. 

How  in  all  merchandise  she  did  excel 

None  but  the  true  Ezekiel  need  to  tell; 

And  for  her  strength,  how  hard  she  was  to  gain, 

Can  Babel's  tired  soldiers  tell  with  pain. 

Within  an  island  had  this  city  seat, 

Divided  from  the  main  by  channel  great; 

Of  costly  ships  and  galleys  she  had  store, 

And  mariners  to  handle  sail  and  oar. 

But  the  Chaldeans  had  nor  ships  nor  skill; 

Their  shoulders  must  their  master's  mind  fulfil  — 

Fetched  rubbish  from  the  opposite  old  town, 

And  in  the  channel  threw  each  burden  down, 

Where,  after  many  essays,  they  made  at  last 

The  sea  firm  land,  whereon  the  army  passed 

And  took  the  wealthy  town.      But  all  the  gain 

Requited  not  the  loss,  the  toil,  and  pain. 

Full  thirteen  years  in  this  strange  work  he  spent 

Before  he  could  accomplish  his  intent, 

And,  though  a  viftor,  home  his  army  leads 

With  peeled  shoulders  and  with  balded  heads. 

When  in  the  Tyrian  war  this  king  was  hot 

Jehoiakim  his  oath  had  clean  forgot; 

Thinks  this  the  fittest  time  to  break  his  bands, 

Whilst  Babel's  king  thus  deep  engaged  stands. 


The  Four  Monarchies  105 

But  he  whose  fortunes  all  were  in  the  ebb 

Had  all  his  hopes  like  to  a  spider's  web; 

For  this  great  king  withdraws  part  of  his  force, 

To  Judah  marches  with  a  speedy  course, 

And,  unexpected,  finds  the  feeble  prince, 

Whom  he  chastised  thus  for  his  proud  offence: 

Fast  bound,  intends  to  Babel  him  to  send, 

But  changed  his  mind,  and  caused  his  life  there  end, 

Then  cast  him  out  like  to  a  naked  ass. 

For  this  is  he  for  whom  none  said  Alas! 

His  son  he  suffered  three  months  to  reign, 

Then  from,  his  throne  he  plucked  him  down  again; 

Whom,  with  his  mother,  he  to  Babel  led, 

And  seven  and  thirty  years  in  prison  fed. 

His  uncle  he  established  in  his  place, 

Who  was  last  king  of  holy  David's  race; 

But  he  as  perjured  as  Jehoiakim, 

They  lost  more  now  than  e'er  they  lost  by  him. 

Seven  years  he  kept  his  faith,  and  safe  he  dwells, 

But  in  the  eighth  against  his  prince  rebels. 

The  ninth  came  Nebuchadnezzar  with  power, 

Besieged  his  city,  temple,  Sion's  tower, 

And  after  eighteen  months  he  took  them  all. 

The  walls  so  strong,  that  stood  so  long,  now  fall. 

The  accursed  king  by  flight  could  nowise  fly 

His  well-deserved  and  foretold  misery; 

But,  being  caught,  to  Babel's  wrathful  king 

With  children,  wives,  and  nobles  all  they  bring, 


1 06       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Where  to  the  sword  all  but  himself  were  put, 
And  with  that  woeful  sight  his  eyes  close  shut. 
Ah,  hapless  man,  whose  darksome  contemplation 
Was  nothing  but  such  ghastly  meditation! 
In  midst  of  Babel  now  till  death  he  lies, 
Yet  as  was  told  ne'er  saw  it  with  his  eyes. 
The  temple  's  burnt,  the  vessels  had  away, 
The  towers  and  palaces  brought  to  decay; 
Where  late  of  harp  and  lute  were  heard  the  noise, 
Now  Zim  and  Jim  lift  up  their  screeching  voice. 
All  now  of  worth  are  captive  led  with  tears, 
And  sit  bewailing  Sion  seventy  years. 
With  all  these  conquests  Babel's  king  rests  not, 
No,  not  when  Moab,  Edom,  he  had  got; 
Kedar  and  Hazor,  the  Arabians,  too, 
All  vassals,  at  his  hands  for  grace  must  sue. 
A  total  conquest  of  rich  Egypt  makes, 
All  rule  he  from  the  ancient  Pharaohs  takes; 
Who  had  for  sixteen  hundred  years  borne  sway 
To  Babylon's  proud  king  now  yield  the  day. 
Then  Put  and  Lud  do  at  his  mercy  stand; 
Where'er  he  goes  he  conquers  every  land. 
His  sumptuous  buildings  pass  all  conceit, 
Which  wealth  and  strong  ambition  made  so  great. 
His  image  Judah's  captives  worship  not, 
Although  the  furnace  be  seven  times  more  hot. 
His  dreams  wise  Daniel  doth  expound  full  well, 
And  his  unhappy  change  with  grief  foretell. 


The  Four  Monarchies  107 

Strange  melancholy  humors  on  him  lay, 
Which  for  seven  years  his  reason  took  away; 
Which  from  no  natural  causes  did  proceed, 
But  for  his  pride,  so  had  the  heavens  decreed. 
The  time  expired,  he  brute  remains  no  more, 
But  government  resumes  as  heretofore; 
In  splendor  and  in  majesty  he  sits, 
Contemplating  those  times  he  lost  his  wits. 
And  if  by  words  we  may  guess  at  the  heart, 
This  king  among  the  righteous  had  a  part. 
Forty-four  years  he  reigned,  which,  being  run, 
He  left  his  wealth  and  conquests  to  his  son. 

EPIL-MERODACH. 

Babel's  great  monarch  now  laid  in  the  dust, 

His  son  possesses  wealth  and  rule  as  just, 

And  in  the  first  year  of  his  royalty 

Easeth  Jehoiachin's  captivity; 

Poor,  forlorn  prince,  who  had  all  state  forgot, 

In  seven  and  thirty  years  had  seen  no  jot. 

Among  the  conquered  kings  that  there  did  lie 

Is  Judah's  king  now  lifted  up  on  high; 

But  yet  in  Babel  he  must  still  remain, 

And  native  Canaan  never  see  again. 

Unlike  his  father,  Evil-Merodach 

Prudence  and  magnanimity  did  lack. 

Fair  Egypt  is  by  his  remissness  lost, 

Arabia,  and  all  the  bordering  coast. 


io8       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Wars  with  the  Medes  unhappily  he  waged, 
Within  which  broils  rich  Croesus  was  engaged; 
His  army  routed,  and  himself  there  slain, 
His  kingdom  to  Belshazzar  did  remain. 

BELSHAZZAR. 

Unworthy  Belshazzar  next  wears  the  crown, 

Whose  acts  profane  a  sacred  pen  sets  down; 

His  lust  and  cruelties  in  stories  find  — 

A  royal  state  ruled  by  a  brutish  mind. 

His  life  so  base  and  dissolute  invites 

The  noble  Persian  to  invade  his  rights; 

Who,  with  his  own  and  uncle's  power,  anon 

Lays  siege  to  his  regal  seat,  proud  Babylon. 

The  coward  king,  whose  strength  lay  in  his  walls, 

To  banqueting  and  reveling  now  falls, 

To  show  his  little  dread  but  greater  store, 

To  cheer  his  friends  and  scorn  his  foes  the  more. 

The  holy  vessels,  thither  brought  long  since, 

They  caroused  in;  the  sacrilegious  prince 

Did  praise  his  gods  of  metal,  wood,  and  stone, 

Proteftors  of  his  crown  and  Babylon. 

But  He,  above,  his  doings  did  deride, 

And  with  a  hand  soon  dashed  all  this  pride. 

The  king  upon  the  wall  casting  his  eye 

The  fingers  of  a  handwriting  did  spy, 

Which  horrid  sight  he  fears  must  needs  portend 

Destruction  to  his  crown,  to  his  person  end. 


The  Four  Monarchies  109 

With  quaking  knees  and  heart  appalled  he  cries 
For  the  soothsayers  and  magicians  wise 
This  language  strange  to  read  and  to  unfold; 
With  gifts  of  scarlet  robe,  and  chain  of  gold, 
And  highest  dignity  next  to  the  king 
To  him  that  could  interpret  clear  this  thing. 
But  dumb  the  gazing  astrologers  stand, 
Amazed  at  the  writing  and  the  hand. 
None  answers  the  affrighted  king  intent, 
Who  still  expefts  some  fearful  sad  event. 
As  dead,  alive  he  sits,  as  one  undone. 
In  comes  the  queen  to  cheer  her  heartless  son; 
Of  Daniel  tells,  who  in  his  grandsire's  days 
Was  held  in  more  account  than  now  he  was. 
Daniel  in  haste  is  brought  before  the  king, 
Who  doth  not  flatter,  nor  once  cloak  the  thing; 
Reminds  him  of  his  grandsire's  height  and  fall, 
And  of  his  own  notorious  sins  withal  — 
His  drunkenness,  and  his  profaneness  high, 
His  pride  and  sottish  gross  idolatry. 
The  guilty  king,  with  color  pale  and  dead, 
Then  hears  his  "Mene"  and  his  "Tekel"  read; 
And  one  thing  did  worthy  a  king,  though  late  — 
Performed  his  word  to  him  that  told  his  fate. 
That  night  victorious  Cyrus  took  the  town, 
Who  soon  did  terminate  his  life  and  crown. 
With  him  did  end  the  race  of  Baladan; 
And  now  the  Persian  Monarchy  began. 

The  end  of  the  Assyrian  Monarchy. 


1 1  o       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

THE  SECOND  MONARCHY,  BEING  THE 
PERSIAN,  BEGUN  UNDER  CYRUS;  DA 
RIUS,  BEING  HIS  UNCLE  AND  FATHER- 
IN-LAW,  REIGNED  WITH  HIM  ABOUT 
TWO  YEARS. 

Cyrus,  Cambyses'  son,  of  Persia  king, 
Whom  lady  Mandane  did  to  him  bring; 
She,  daughter  unto  great  Astyages; 
He,  in  descent,  the  seventh  from  Arbaces. 
Cambyses  was  of  Achaemenes'  race, 
Who  had  in  Persia  the  lieutenant's  place 
When  Sardanapalus  was  overthrown, 
And  from  that  time  had  held  it  as  his  own. 
Cyrus  Darius'  daughter  took  to  wife, 
And  so  unite  two  kingdoms  without  strife. 
Darius  unto  Mandane  was  brother, 
Adopts  her  son  for  his,  having  no  other. 
This  is  of  Cyrus  the  true  pedigree, 
Whose  ancestors  were  royal  in  degree. 
His  mother's  dream,  and  grandsire's  cruelty, 
His  preservation  in  his  misery, 
His  nourishment  afforded  by  a  bitch, 
Are  fit  for  such  whose  ears  for  fables  itch. 
He  in  his  younger  days  an  army  led 
Against  great  Croesus,  then  of  Lydia  head; 
Who,  over-curious  of  war's  event, 
For  information  to  Apollo  went, 


The  Four  Monarchies  m 

And  the  ambiguous  oracle  did  trust, — 
So  overthrown  by  Cyrus,  as  was  just; 
Who  him  pursues  to  Sardis,  takes  the  town, 
Where  all  that  dare  resist  are  slaughtered  down. 
Disguised,  Croesus  hoped  to  escape  in  the  throng, 
Who  had  no  might  to  save  himself  from  wrong; 
But  as  he  passed,  his  son,  who  was  born  dumb, 
With  pressing  grief  and  sorrow  overcome 
Among  the  tumult,  bloodshed,  and  the  strife, 
Broke  his  long  silence,  cried,  "Spare  Croesus'  life!" 
Croesus  thus  known,  it  was  great  Cyrus'  doom  — 
A  hard  decree  —  to  ashes  he  consume. 
Then  on  a  woodpile  set,  where  all  might  eye, 
He  "Solon!  Solon!  Solon!"  thrice  did  cry. 
The  reason  of  those  words  Cyrus  demands, 
Who  Solon  was,  to  whom  he  lifts  his  hands. 
Then  to  the  king  he  makes  this  true  report: 
That  Solon  sometime  at  his  stately  court 
His  treasures,  pleasures,  pomp,  and  power  did  see, 
And,  viewing  all,  at  all  naught  moved  was  he. 
When  Croesus,  angry,  urged  him  to  express 
If  ever  king  equaled  his  happiness, 
Quoth  he,  "That  man  for  happy  we  commend 
Whose  happy  life  attains  a  happy  end." 
Cyrus,  with  pity  moved,  knowing  a  king's  stand, 
Now  up  and  down,  as  fortune  turns  her  hand, 
Weighing  the  age  and  greatness  of  the  prince, — 
His  mother's  uncle,  stories  do  evince, — 


1 1 2       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Gave  him  his  life  and  took  him  for  a  friend, 
Did  to  him  still  his  chief  designs  commend. 
Next  war  the  restless  Cyrus  thought  upon 
Was  conquest  of  the  stately  Babylon, 
Now  treble-walled,  and  moated  so  about 
That  all  the  world  they  need  not  fear  nor  doubt. 
To  drain  this  ditch  he  many  sluices  cut, 
But  till  convenient  time  their  heads  kept  shut. 
That  night  Belshazzar  feasted  all  his  rout 
He  cut  those  banks  and  let  the  river  out, 
And  to  the  walls  securely  marches  on, 
Not  finding  a  defendant  thereupon; 
Entering  the  town,  the  sottish  king  he  slays, 
Upon  earth's  richest  spoils  each  soldier  preys. 
Here  twenty  years'  provision  good  he  found. 
Forty-five  miles  this  city  scarce  could  round. 
This  head  of  kingdoms,  Chaldea's  excellence, 
For  owls  and  satyrs  made  a  residence; 
Yet  wondrous  monuments  this  stately  queen 
A  thousand  years  after  had  to  be  seen. 
Cyrus  doth  now  the  Jewish  captives  free; 
An  edicl:  made  the  temple  builded  be; 
He,  with  his  uncle,  Daniel  sets  on  high, 
And  caused  his  foes  in  lions'  dens  to  die. 
Long  after  this  he  'gainst  the  Scythians  goes, 
And  Tomyris'  son  and  army  overthrows; 
Which  to  revenge  she  hires  a  mighty  power, 
And  sets  on  Cyrus  in  a  fatal  hour, 


The  Four  Monarchies  \  1 3 

There  routs  his  host,  himself  a  prisoner  takes, 

And  at  one  blow  the  world's  head  headless  makes  — 

The  which  she  bathed  within  a  butt  of  blood, 

Using  such  taunting  words  as  she  thought  good. 

But  Xenophon  reports  he  died  in  his  bed 

In  honor,  peace,  and  wealth,  with  a  gray  head, 

And  in  his  town  of  Pasargadae  lies; 

Where  some  long  after  sought  in  vain  for  prize, 

But  in  his  tomb  was  only  to  be  found 

Two  Scythian  bows,  a  sword,  and  target  round; 

And  Alexander,  coming  to  the  same, 

With  honors  great  did  celebrate  his  fame. 

Three  daughters  and  two  sons  he  left  behind, 

Ennobled  more  by  birth  than  by  their  mind. 

Thirty-two  years  in  all  this  prince  did  reign, 

But  eight  whilst  Babylon  he  did  retain; 

And  though  his  conquests  made  the  earth  to  groan, 

Now  quiet  lies  under  one  marble  stone, 

And  with  an  epitaph  himself  did  make 

To  show  how  little  land  he  then  should  take. 

CAMBTSES. 

Cambyses,  no  ways  like  his  noble  sire, 
Yet  to  enlarge  his  state  had  some  desire. 
His  reign  with  blood  and  incest  first  begins, 
Then  sends  to  find  a  law  for  these  his  sins. 
That  kings  with  sisters  match  no  law  they  find 
But  that  the  Persian  king  may  aft  his  mind. 
8 


1 1 4       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

He  wages  war,  the  fifth  year  of  his  reign, 

'Gainst  Egypt's  king,  who  there  by  him  was  slain; 

And  all  of  royal  blood  that  came  to  hand 

He  seized  first  of  life  and  then  of  land. 

But  little  Narus  'scaped  that  cruel  fate, 

Who,  grown  a  man,  resumed  again  his  state. 

He  next  to  Cyprus  sends  his  bloody  host, 

Who,  landing  soon  upon  that  fruitful  coast, 

Made  Evelthon,  their  king,  with  bended  knee 

To  hold  his  own  of  his  free  courtesy. 

The  temple  he  destroys,  not  for  his  zeal, 

For  he  would  be  professed  god  of  their  weal; 

Yea,  in  his  pride,  he  ventured  so  far 

To  spoil  the  temple  of  great  Jupiter  — 

But  as  they  marched  o'er  those  desert  sands 

The  stormed  dust  o'erwhelmed  his  daring  bands. 

But  scorning  thus  by  Jove  to  be  outbraved, 

A  second  army  he  had  almost  graved; 

But  vain  he  found  to  fight  with  elements, 

So  left  his  sacrilegious  bold  intents. 

The  Egyptian  Apis  then  he  likewise  slew, 

Laughing  to  scorn  that  sottish  calvish  crew. 

If  all  this  heat  had  been  for  pious  end, 

Cambyses  to  the  clouds  we  might  commend; 

But  he  that  'fore  the  gods  himself  prefers 

Is  more  profane  than  gross  idolaters. 

He  after  this,  upon  suspicion  vain, 

Unjustly  caused  his  brother  to  be  slain; 


The  Four  Monarchies  1 1 5 

Praxaspes  into  Persia  then  is  sent 

To  aft  in  secret  this  his  lewd  intent. 

His  sister,  whom  incestuously  he  wed, 

Hearing  her  harmless  brother  thus  was  dead, 

His  woeful  death  with  tears  did  so  bemoan 

That  by  her  husband's  charge  she  caught  her  own; 

She  with  her  fruit  at  once  were  both  undone 

Who  would  have  borne  a  nephew  and  a  son. 

O  hellish  husband,  brother,  uncle,  sire, 

Thy  cruelty  all  ages  will  admire. 

This  strange  severity  he  sometimes  used 

Upon  a  judge  for  taking  bribes  accused: 

Flayed  him  alive,  hung  up  his  stuffed  skin 

Over  his  seat,  then  placed  his  son  therein, 

To  whom  he  gave  this  in  remembrance  — 

Like  fault  must  look  for  the  like  recompense. 

His  cruelty  was  come  unto  that  height 

He  spared  nor  foe,  nor  friend,  nor  favorite. 

J  T  would  be  no  pleasure,  but  a  tedious  thing, 

To  tell  the  fafts  of  this  most  bloody  king; 

Feared  of  all,  but  loved  of  few  or  none, 

All  wished  his  short  reign  past  before  't  was  done. 

At  last  two  of  his  officers,  he  hears, 

Had  set  one  Smerdis  up,  of  the  same  years 

And  like  in  feature  to  his  brother  dead, 

Ruling  as  they  thought  best  under  this  head. 

The  people,  ignorant  of  what  was  done, 

Obedience  yielded  as  to  Cyrus*  son. 


1 1 6       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Touched  with  this  news,  to  Persia  he  makes; 

But  in  the  way  his  sword  just  vengeance  takes, 

Unsheathes,  as  he  his  horse  mounted  on  high, 

And  with  a  mortal  thrust  wounds  him  in  the  thigh, 

Which  ends  before  begun  his  home-bred  war, 

So  yields  to  death,  that  dreadful  conqueror. 

Grief  for  his  brother's  death  he  did  express, 

And  more  because  he  died  issueless. 

The  male  line  of  great  Cyrus  now  had  end; 

The  female  to  many  ages  did  extend. 

A  Babylon  in  Egypt  did  he  make, 

And  Meroe  built  for  his  fair  sister's  sake. 

Eight  years  he  reigned,  a  short,  yet  too  long,  time, 

Cut  off  in  wickedness,  in  strength,  and  prime. 

THE   INTERREGNUM  BETWEEN 
CAMBTSES   AND   DARIUS   HTSTASPES. 

Childless  Cambyses  on  the  sudden  dead, 

The  princes  meet  to  choose  one  in  his  stead, 

Of  which  the  chief  were  seven,  called  satraps, 

Who,  like  to  kings,  ruled  kingdoms  as  they  please; 

Descended  all  of  Achsemenes'  blood, 

And  kinsmen  in  account  to  the  king  they  stood. 

And  first  these  noble  Magi  agree  upon 

To  thrust  the  impostor  Smerdis  out  of  throne. 

Then  forces  instantly  they  raise,  and  rout 

The  king  with  his  conspirators  so  stout; 


The  Four  Monarchies  117 

But  yet  'fore  this  was  done  much  blood  was  shed, 
And  two  of  these  great  peers  in  field  lay  dead. 
Some  write  that,  sorely  hurt,  they  escaped  away; 
But  so  or  no,  sure  't  is  they  won  the  day. 
All  things  in  peace,  and  rebels  throughly  quelled, 
A  consultation  by  those  states  was  held 
What  form  of  government  now  to  ereft, 
The  old  or  new,  which  best,  in  what  respect. 
The  greater  part  declined  a  monarchy, 
So  late  crushed  by  their  prince's  tyranny, 
And  thought  the  people  would  more  happy  be 
If  governed  by  an  aristocracy. 
But  others  thought  —  none  of  the  dullest  brain  — 
That  better  one  than  many  tyrants  reign. 
What  arguments  they  used  I  know  not  well, — 
Too  politic,  it 's  like,  for  me  to  tell, — 
But  in  conclusion  they  all  agree 
Out  of  the  seven  a  monarch  chosen  be. 
All  envy  to  avoid,  this  was  thought  on: 
Upon  a  green  to  meet  by  rising  sun, 
And  he  whose  horse  before  the  rest  should  neigh 
Of  all  the  peers  should  have  precedency. 
They  all  attend  on  the  appointed  hour, 
Praying  to  fortune  for  a  kingly  power; 
Then  mounting  on  their  snorting  coursers  proud, 
Darius'  lusty  stallion  neighed  full  loud. 
The  nobles  all  alight,  bow  to  their  king, 
And  joyful  acclamations  shrill  they  ring. 
SA 


1 1 8       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

A  thousand  times  "Long  live  the  king!"  they  cry; 
"Let  tyranny  with  dead  Cambyses  die!'* 
Then  all  attend  him  to  his  royal  room. 
Thanks  for  all  this  to  his  crafty  stable-groom. 

DARIUS   HTSTASPES. 
Darius  by  ele6lion  made  a  king, 
His  title  to  make  strong  omits  no  thing: 
He  two  of  Cyrus'  daughters  then  doth  wed, 
Two  of  his  nieces  takes  to  nuptial  bed, 
By  which  he  cuts  their  hopes  for  future  time 
That  by  such  steps  to  kingdoms  often  climb. 
And  now  a  king  by  marriage,  choice,  and  blood, 
Three  strings  to  his  bow,  the  least  of  which  is  good, 
Yet  firmly  more  the  people's  hearts  to  bind 
Made  wholesome,  gentle  laws  which  pleased  each  mind. 
His  courtesy  and  affability 
Much  gained  the  hearts  of  his  nobility. 
Yet,  notwithstanding  all  he  did  so  well, 
The  Babylonians  against  their  prince  rebel. 
An  host  he  raised  the  city  to  reduce; 
But  men  against  those  walls  were  of  no  use. 
Then  brave  Zopyrus,  for  his  master's  good, 
His  manly  face  disfigures,  spares  no  blood, 
With  his  own  hands  cuts  off  his  ears  and  nose, 
And  with  a  faithful  fraud  to  the  town  he  goes, 
Tells  them  how  harshly  the  proud  king  hath  dealt, 
That  for  their  sakes  his  cruelty  he  felt  — 


The  Four  Monarchies  119 

Desiring  of  the  prince  to  raise  the  siege, 

This  violence  was  done  him  by  his  liege. 

This  told,  for  entrance  there  he  stood  not  long, 

For  they  believed  his  nose  more  than  his  tongue. 

With  all  the  city's  strength  they  him  betrust; 

If  he  command,  obey  the  greatest  must. 

When  opportunity  he  saw  was  fit, 

Delivers  up  the  town,  and  all  in  it. 

To  lose  a  nose  to  win  a  town  's  no  shame; 

But  who  dares  venture  such  a  stake  for  the  game? 

Than  thy  disgrace  thine  honor  's  manifold, 

Who  doth  deserve  a  statue  made  of  gold; 

Nor  can  Darius  in  his  monarchy 

Scarce  find  enough  to  thank  thy  loyalty. 

Yet  o'er  thy  glory  we  must  cast  this  veil  — 

Thy  craft  more  than  thy  valor  did  prevail. 

Darius,  in  the  second  of  his  reign, 

An  edicl:  for  the  Jews  published  again 

The  temple  to  rebuild,  for  that  did  rest 

Since  Cyrus'  time;  Cambyses  did  molest. 

He,  like  a  king,  now  grants  a  charter  large, 

Out  of  his  own  revenues  bears  the  charge, 

Gives  sacrifices,  wheat,  wine,  oil,  and  salt, 

Threats  punishment  to  him  that  through  default 

Shall  let  the  work,  or  keep  back  anything 

Of  what  is  freely  granted  by  the  king; 

And  on  all  kings  he  pours  out  execrations 

That  shall  once  dare  to  raze  those  firm  foundations. 


1 20       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

They,  thus  backed  by  the  king,  in  spite  of  foes 

Built  on  and  prospered  till  their  house  they  close, 

And  in  the  sixth  year  of  his  friendly  reign 

Set  up  a  temple  (though  a  less)  again. 

Darius  on  the  Scythians  made  a  war. 

Entering  that  large  and  barren  country  far, 

A  bridge  he  made,  which  served  for  boat  and  barge 

O'er  Ister  fair,  with  labor  and  with  charge. 

But  in  that  desert,  'mongst  his  barbarous  foes, 

Sharp  wants,  not  swords,  his  valor  did  oppose: 

His  army  fought  with  hunger  and  with  cold, 

Which  to  assail  his  royal  camp  were  bold. 

By  these  alone  his  host  was  pinched  so  sore 

He  warred  defensive,  not  offensive  more. 

The  savages  did  laugh  at  his  distress. 

Their  minds  by  hieroglyphics  they  express: 

A  frog,  a  mouse,  a  bird,  an  arrow,  sent. 

The  king  will  needs  interpret  their  intent 

Possession  of  water,  earth,  and  air; 

But  wise  Gobryas  reads  not  half  so  fair. 

Quoth  he,  "  Like  frogs  in  water  we  must  dive, 

Or  like  to  mice  under  the  earth  must  live, 

Or  fly  like  birds  in  unknown  ways  full  quick, 

Or  Scythian  arrows  in  our  sides  must  stick." 

The  king,  seeing  his  men  and  viftuals  spent, 

This  fruitless  war  began  late  to  repent, 

Returned  with  little  honor,  and  less  gain, 

His  enemies  scarce  seen,  then  much  less  slain. 


The  Four  Monarchies  121 

He  after  this  intends  Greece  to  invade, 

But  troubles  in  Less  Asia  him  stayed, 

Which  hushed,  he  straight  so  orders  his  affairs 

For  Attica  an  army  he  prepares, 

But,  as  before,  so  now,  with  ill  success, 

Returned  with  wondrous  loss,  and  honorless. 

Athens,  perceiving  now  her  desperate  state, 

Armed  all  she  could,  which  eleven  thousand  made; 

By  brave  Miltiades,  their  chief,  being  led, 

Darius'  multitudes  before  them  fled. 

At  Marathon  this  bloody  field  was  fought, 

Where  Grecians  proved  themselves  right  soldiers  stout. 

The  Persians  to  their  galleys  post  with  speed, 

Where  an  Athenian  showed  a  valiant  deed  — 

Pursues  his  flying  foes  then  on  the  sand, 

He  stays  a  launching  galley  with  his  hand, 

Which  soon  cut  off,  enraged,  he  with  his  left 

Renews  his  hold,  and  when  of  that  bereft 

His  whetted  teeth  he  claps  in  the  firm  wood; 

Off  flies  his  head,  down  showers  his  frolic  blood. 

Go,  Persians,  carry  home  that  angry  piece 

As  the  best  trophy  which  ye  won  in  Greece. 

Darius,  light,  yet  heavy,  home  returns, 

And  for  revenge  his  heart  still  restless  burns. 

His  queen,  Atossa,  caused  all  this  stir 

For  Grecian  maids,  't  is  said,  to  wait  on  her. 

She  lost  her  aim;  her  husband,  he  lost  more  — 

His  men,  his  coin,  his  honor,  and  his  store, 


1 22       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

And  the  ensuing  year  ended  his  life, 
'T  is  thought,  through  grief  of  this  successless  strife. 
Thirty-six  years  this  noble  prince  did  reign; 
Then  to  his  second  son  did  all  remain. 

XERXES. 

Xerxes,  Darius'  and  Atossa's  son, 
Grandchild  to  Cyrus,  now  sits  on  the  throne 
(His  eldest  brother  put  beside  the  place, 
Because  this  was  first  born  of  Cyrus'  race); 
His  father  not  so  full  of  lenity 
As  was  his  son  of  pride  and  cruelty. 
He  with  his  crown  receives  a  double  war: 
The  Egyptians  to  reduce,  and  Greece  to  mar. 
The  first  began  and  finished  in  such  haste 
None  write  by  whom  nor  how  't  was  overpast. 
But  for  the  last  he  made  such  preparation 
As  if  to  dust  he  meant  to  grind  that  nation; 
Yet  all  his  men  and  instruments  of  slaughter 
Produced  but  derision  and  laughter. 
Sage  Artabanus'  counsel  had  he  taken, 
And  his  cousin,  young  Mardonius,  forsaken, 
His  soldiers,  credit,  wealth,  at  home  had  stayed, 
And  Greece  such  wondrous  triumphs  ne'er  had  made. 
The  first  dehorts  and  lays  before  his  eyes 
His  father's  ill  success  in  his  enterprise 
Against  the  Scythians,  and  Grecians,  too; 
What  infamy  to  his  honor  did  accrue. 


The  Four  Monarchies  123 

Flattering  Mardonius,  on  the  other  side, 
With  conquest  of  all  Europe  feeds  his  pride. 
Vain  Xerxes  thinks  his  counsel  hath  most  wit 
That  his  ambitious  humor  best  can  fit; 
And  by  this  choice  unwarily  posts  on 
To  present  loss,  future  subversion. 
Although  he  hasted,  yet  four  years  were  spent 
In  great  provisions  for  this  great  intent. 
His  army  of  all  nations  was  compounded 
That  the  vast  Persian  government  surrounded. 
His  foot  was  seventeen  hundred  thousand  strong; 
Eight  hundred  thousand  horse  to  these  belong. 
His  camels,  beasts  for  carriage,  numberless, 
For  truth  's  ashamed  how  many  to  express. 
The  charge  of  all  he  severally  commended 
To  princes  of  the  Persian  blood  descended; 
But  the  command  of  these  commanders  all 
Unto  Mardonius,  made  their  general. 
He  was  the  son  of  the  forenamed  Gobryas, 
Who  married  the  sister  of  Darius. 
Such  his  land  forces  were.     Then  next  a  fleet 
Of  two  and  twenty  thousand  galleys  meet, 
Manned  with  Phenicians  and  Pamphylians, 
Cypriotes,  Dorians,  and  Cilicians, 
Lycians,  Carians,  and  lonians, 
^Eolians,  and  the  Hellespontines; 
Besides  the  vessels  for  his  transportation, 
Which  to  three  thousand  came,  by  best  relation. 


1 24       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Brave  Artemisia,  Halicarnassus'  queen, 
In  person  present  for  his  aid  was  seen, 
Whose  galleys  all  the  rest  in  neatness  pass 
Save  the  Sidonians,  where  Xerxes  was. 
But  hers  she  kept  still  separate  from  the  rest, 
For  to  command  alone  she  judged  was  best. 

0  noble  queen,  thy  valor  I  commend; 

But  pity  't  was  thine  aid  thou  here  didst  lend. 
At  Sardis,  in  Lydia,  all  these  do  meet, 
Whither  rich  Pythius  comes  Xerxes  to  greet, 
Feasts  all  this  multitude  of  his  own  charge, 
Then  gives  the  king  a  king-like  gift  full  large  — 
Three  thousand  talents  of  the  purest  gold, 
Which  mighty  sum  all  wondered  to  behold. 
Then  humbly  to  the  king  he  makes  request 
One  of  his  five  sons  there  might  be  released 
To  be  to  his  age  a  comfort  and  a  stay; 
The  other  four  he  freely  gave  away. 
The  king  calls  for  the  youth,  who  being  brought, 
Cuts  him  in  twain  for  whom  his  sire  besought; 
Then  laid  his  parts  on  both  sides  of  the  way, 
'Twixt  which  his  soldiers  marched  in  good  array. 
For  his  great  love  is  this  thy  recompense? 
Is  this  to  do  like  Xerxes  or  a  prince? 
Thou  shame  of  kings,  of  men  the  detestation, 

1  rhetoric  want  to  pour  out  execration. 
First  thing  he  did  that's  worthy  of  recount 
A  sea-passage  cut  behind  Athos'  mount. 


The  Four  Monarchies  125 

Next  o'er  the  Hellespont  a  bridge  he  made 

Of  boats  together  coupled  and  there  laid. 

But  winds  and  waves  those  iron  bands  did  break; 

To  cross  the  sea  such  strength  he  found  too  weak; 

Then  whips  the  sea,  and  with  a  mind  most  vain 

He  fetters  casts  therein  the  same  to  chain; 

The  workmen  put  to  death  the  bridge  that  made 

Because  they  wanted  skill  the  same  to  have  stayed. 

Seven  thousand  galleys  chained  by  Tyrians'  skill 

Firmly  at  last  accomplished  his  will. 

Seven  days  and  nights  his  host,  without  least  stay, 

Was  marching  o'er  this  new  devised  way. 

Then  in  Abydos'  plains  mustering  his  forces, 

He  glories  in  his  squadrons  and  his  horses; 

Long  viewing  them,  thought  it  great  happiness 

One  king  so  many  subjects  should  possess. 

But  yet  this  sight  from  him  produced  tears 

That  none  of  those  could  live  an  hundred  years. 

What  after  did  ensue,  had  he  foreseen, 

Of  so  long  time  his  thoughts  had  never  been. 

Of  Artabanus  he  again  demands 

How  of  this  enterprise  his  thought  now  stands. 

His  answer  was,  both  sea  and  land  he  feared; 

Which  was  not  vain,  as  after  soon  appeared. 

But  Xerxes  resolute  to  Thrace  goes  first. 

His  host  all  Lissus  drinks  to  quench  its  thirst; 

And  for  his  cattle  all  Pissirus'  lake 

Was  scarce  enough  for  each  a  draught  to  take. 


1 26       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Then,  marching  on  to  the  strait  Thermopylae, 

The  Spartan  meets  him,  brave  Leonide. 

This  'twixt  the  mountains  lies,  half  acre  wide, 

That  pleasant  Thessaly  from  Greece  divide. 

Two  days  and  nights  a  fight  they  there  maintain, 

Till  twenty  thousand  Persians  fell  down  slain; 

And  all  that  army  then,  dismayed,  had  fled 

But  that  a  fugitive  discovered 

How  some  might  o'er  the  mountains  go  about 

And  wound  the  backs  of  those  brave  warriors  stout. 

They  thus,  behemmed  with  multitude  of  foes, 

Laid  on  more  fiercely  their  deep  mortal  blows. 

None  cries  for  quarter,  nor  yet  seeks  to  fun, 

But  on  their  ground  they  die,  each  mother's  son. 

O  noble  Greeks,  how  now  degenerate! 

Where  is  the  valor  of  your  ancient  state 

Whenas  one  thousand  could  a  million  daunt? 

Alas,  it  is  Leonidas  you  want! 

This  shameful  viftory  cost  Xerxes  dear; 

Among  the  rest,  two  brothers  he  lost  there. 

And  as  at  land,  so  he  at  sea  was  crossed: 

Four  hundred  stately  ships  by  storms  were  lost; 

Of  vessels  small  almost  innumerable, 

The  harbors  to  contain  them  were  not  able. 

Yet,  thinking  to  outmatch  his  foes  at  sea, 

Inclosed  their  fleet  in  the  strait  of  Eubcea; 

But  they,  as  fortunate  at  sea  as  land, 

In  this  strait,  as  the  other,  firmly  stand, 


The  Four  Monarchies  127 

And  Xerxes'  mighty  galleys  battered  so 

That  their  split  sides  witnessed  his  overthrow. 

Then  in  the  strait  of  Salamis  he  tried 

If  that  small  number  his  great  force  could  bide; 

But  he,  in  daring  of  his  forward  foe, 

Received  there  a  shameful  overthrow. 

Twice  beaten  thus  at  sea,  he  warred  no  more, 

But  then  the  Phocians'  country  wasted  sore. 

They  no  way  able  to  withstand  his  force, 

The  brave  Themistocles  takes  this  wise  course: 

In  secret  manner  word  to  Xerxes  sends 

That  Greeks  to  break  his  bridge  shortly  intend; 

And,  as  a  friend,  warns  him,  whate'er  he  do, 

For  his  retreat  to  have  an  eye  thereto. 

He,  hearing  this,  his  thoughts  and  course  home  bended, 

Much  fearing  that  which  never  was  intended. 

Yet  'fore  he  went,  to  help  out  his  expense, 

Part  of  his  host  to  Delphos  sent  from  thence 

To  rob  the  wealthy  temple  of  Apollo. 

But  mischief  sacrilege  doth  ever  follow. 

Two  mighty  rocks  brake  from  Parnassus'  hill, 

And  many  thousands  of  those  men  did  kill; 

Which  accident  the  rest  affrighted  so 

With  empty  hands  they  to  their  master  go. 

He,  finding  all  to  tend  to  his  decay, 

Fearing  his  bridge,  no  longer  there  would  stay. 

Three  hundred  thousand  yet  he  left  behind 

With  his  Mardonius,  index  of  his  mind; 


1 28       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Who,  for  his  sake,  he  knew  would  venture  far, 

Chief  instigator  of  this  hapless  war. 

He  instantly  to  Athens  sends  for  peace, 

That  all  hostility  from  thenceforth  cease, 

And  that  with  Xerxes  they  would  be  at  one; 

So  should  all  favor  to  their  state  be  shown. 

The  Spartans,  fearing  Athens  would  agree, 

As  had  Macedon,  Thebes,  and  Thessaly, 

And  leave  them  out  this  shock  now  to  sustain, 

By  their  ambassador  they  thus  complain 

That  Xerxes'  quarrel  was  'gainst  Athens'  state, 

And  they  had  helped  them  as  confederate; 

If  in  their  need  they  should  forsake  their  friend, 

Their  infamy  would  last  till  all  things  end. 

But  the  Athenians  this  peace  detest, 

And  thus  replied  unto  Mardon's  request: 

That  while  the  sun  did  run  his  endless  course 

Against  the  Persians  they  would  bend  their  force; 

Nor  could  the  brave  ambassador  he  sent 

With  rhetoric  gain  better  compliment  — 

A  Macedonian  born,  and  great  commander, 

No  less  than  grandsire  to  great  Alexander. 

Mardonius  proud,  hearing  this  answer  stout, 

To  add  more  to  his  numbers  lays  about; 

And  of  those  Greeks  which  by  his  skill  he  won 

He  fifty  thousand  joins  unto  his  own. 

The  other  Greeks  which  were  confederate 

In  all  one  hundred  and  ten  thousand  made. 


The  Four  Monarchies  129 

The  Athenians  could  but  forty  thousand  arm, 
The  rest  had  weapons  would  do  little  harm; 
But  that  which  helped  defeats  and  made  them  bold 
Was  vidlory  by  oracle  foretold. 
Then  for  one  battle  shortly  all  provide 
Where  both  their  controversies  they  '11  decide. 
Ten  days  these  armies  did  each  other  face. 
Mardonius,  finding  victuals  waste  apace, 
No  longer  dared,  but  bravely  onset  gave. 
The  other  not  a  hand  or  sword  would  wave 
Till  in  the  entrails  of  their  sacrifice 
The  signal  of  their  viftory  did  rise; 
Which  found,  like  Greeks  they  fight,  the  Persians  fly, 
And  troublesome  Mardonius  now  must  die. 
All 's  lost;  and  of  three  hundred  thousand  men 
Three  thousand  only  can  run  home  again. 
For  pity  let  those  few  to  Xerxes  go 
To  certify  his  final  overthrow. 
Same  day  the  small  remainder  of  his  fleet 
The  Grecians  at  Mycale  in  Asia  meet, 
And  there  so  utterly  they  wrecked  the  same 
Scarce  one  was  left  to  carry  home  the  fame. 
Thus  did  the  Greeks  consume,  destroy,  disperse, 
That  army  which  did  fright  the  universe. 
Scorned  Xerxes,  hated  for  his  cruelty, 
Yet  ceases  not  to  aft  his  villainy. 
His  brother's  wife  solicits  to  his  will; 
The  chaste  and  beauteous  dame  refused  still. 
9 


1 30       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Some  years  by  him  in  this  vain  suit  were  spent, 

Nor  prayers  nor  gifts  could  win  him  least  content, 

Nor  matching  of  her  daughter  to  his  son; 

But  she  was  still  as  when  he  first  begun. 

When  jealous  Queen  Amestris  of  this  knew 

She  harpy-like  upon  the  lady  flew, 

Cut  off  her  breasts,  her  lips,  her  nose,  and  ears, 

And  leaves  her  thus  besmeared  in  blood  and  tears. 

Straight  comes  her  lord,  and  finds  his  wife  thus  lie. 

The  sorrow  of  his  heart  did  close  his  eye. 

He  dying  to  behold  that  wounding  sight 

Where  he  had  sometime  gazed  with  great  delight, 

To  see  that  face  where  rose  and  lilies  stood 

O'erflown  with  torrents  of  her  guiltless  blood, 

To  see  those  breasts  where  chastity  did  dwell 

Thus  cut  and  mangled  by  a  hag  of  hell, 

With  laden  heart  unto  the  king  he  goes, 

Tells  as  he  could  his  unexpressed  woes. 

But  for  his  deep  complaints  and  showers  of  tears 

His  brother's  recompense  was  naught  but  jeers. 

The  grieved  prince,  finding  nor  right  nor  love, 

To  Baftria  his  household  did  remove. 

His  brother  sent  soon  after  him  a  crew 

Which  him  and  his  most  barbarously  there  slew. 

Unto  such  height  did  grow  his  cruelty, 

Of  life  no  man  had  least  security. 

At  last  his  uncle  did  his  death  conspire, 

And  for  that  end  his  eunuch  he  did  hire, 


The  Four  Monarchies  131 

Who  privately  him  smothered  in  his  bed, 

But  yet  by  search  he  was  found  murdered. 

Then  Artabanus,  hirer  of  this  deed, 

That  from  suspicion  he  might  be  freed, 

Accused  Darius,  Xerxes'  eldest  son, 

To  be  the  author  of  the  crime  was  done, 

And  by  his  craft  ordered  the  matter  so 

That  the  prince,  innocent,  to  death  did  go. 

But  in  short  time  this  wickedness  was  known, 

For  which  he  died,  and  not  he  alone, 

But  all  his  family  was  likewise  slain. 

Such  justice  in  the  Persian  court  did  reign. 

The  eldest  son  thus  immaturely  dead, 

The  second  was  enthroned  in  his  father's  stead. 

ARTAXERXES  LONGIMANUS. 

Amongst  the  monarchs  next  this  prince  had  place, 

The  best  that  ever  sprung  of  Cyrus'  race. 

He  first  war  with  revolted  Egypt  made, 

To  whom  the  perjured  Grecians  lent  their  aid 

Although  to  Xerxes  they  not  long  before 

A  league  of  amity  had  firmly  swore, 

Which  had  they  kept,  Greece  had  more  nobly  done 

Than  when  the  world  they  after  overrun. 

Greeks  and  Egyptians  both  he  overthrows, 

And  pays  them  both  according  as  he  owes. 

Which  done,  a  sumptuous  feast  makes  like  a  king, 

Where  ninescore  days  are  spent  in  banqueting; 


132       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

His  princes,  nobles,  and  his  captains  calls 

To  be  partakers  of  these  festivals. 

His  hangings  white  and  green,  and  purple  dye, 

With  gold  and  silver  beds  most  gorgeously. 

The  royal  wine  in  golden  cups  did  pass; 

To  drink  more  than  he  list  none  bidden  was. 

Queen  Vashti  also  feasts;  but  'fore  'tis  ended 

She  's  from  her  royalty,  alas,  suspended, 

And  one  more  worthy  placed  in  her  room; 

By  Memu can's  advice  so  was  the  doom. 

What  Esther  was  and  did,  the  story  read, 

And  how  her  countrymen  from  spoil  she  freed; 

Of  Haman's  fall,  and  Mordecai's  great  rise, 

The  might  of  the  prince,  the  tribute  of  the  isles. 

Good  Ezra  in  the  seventh  year  of  his  reign 

Did  for  the  Jews  commission  large  obtain, 

With  gold  and  silver,  and  whate'er  they  need; 

His  bounty  did  Darius'  far  exceed. 

And  Nehemiah,  in  his  twentieth  year, 

Went  to  Jerusalem,  his  city  dear, 

Rebuilt  those  walls  which  long  in  rubbish  lay, 

And  o'er  his  opposites  still  got  the  day. 

Unto  this  king  Themistocles  did  fly 

When  under  ostracism  he  did  lie  — 

For  such  ingratitude  did  Athens  show 

This  valiant  knight,  whom  they  so  much  did  owe. 

Such  royal  bounty  from  his  prince  he  found 

That  in  his  loyalty  his  heart  was  bound. 


The  Four  Monarchies  133 

The  king  not  little  joyful  of  this  chance, 
Thinking  his  Grecian  wars  now  to  advance, 
And  for  that  end  great  preparation  made 
Fair  Attica  a  third  time  to  invade. 
His  grandsire's  old  disgrace  did  vex  him  sore, 
His  father  Xerxes'  loss  and  shame  much  more. 
For  punishment  their  breach  of  oath  did  call 
This  noble  Greek,  now  fit  for  general. 
Provisions  then  and  season  being  fit, 
To  Themistocles  this  war  he  doth  commit, 
Who  for  his  wrong  he  could  not  choose  but  deem 
His  country  nor  his  friends  would  much  esteem; 
But  he  all  injury  had  soon  forgot, 
And  to  his  native  land  could  bear  no  hate, 
Nor  yet  disloyal  to  his  prince  would  prove, 
By  whom  obliged  by  bounty  and  by  love. 
Either  to  wrong  did  wound  his  heart  so  sore 
To  wrong  himself  by  death  he  chose  before. 
In  this  sad  conflict  marching  on  his  ways, 
Strong  poison  took,  so  put  an  end  to  his  days. 
The  king,  this  noble  captain  having  lost, 
Dispersed  again  his  newly-levied  host. 
Rest  of  his  time  in  peace  he  did  remain, 
And  died  the  two  and  fortieth  of  his  reign. 

DARIUS   NOTHUS. 

Three  sons  great  Artaxerxes  left  behind; 
The  eldest  to  succeed,  that  was  his  mind. 
9A 


134       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

His  second  brother  with  him  fell  at  strife, 

Still  making  war  till  first  had  lost  his  life. 

Then  the  survivor  is  by  Nothus  slain, 

Who  now  sole  monarch  doth  of  all  remain. 

The  first  two  sons  are  by  historians  thought 

By  fair  Queen  Esther  to  her  husband  brought. 

If  so  they  were,  the  greater  was  her  moan 

That  for  such  graceless  wretches  she  did  groan. 

Revolting  Egypt  'gainst  this  king  rebels, 

His  garrison  drives  out  that  mongst  them  dwells; 

Joins  with  the  Greeks,  and  so  maintains  their  right 

For  sixty  years,  maugre  the  Persians'  might. 

A  second  trouble  after  this  succeeds, 

Which  from  remissness  in  Less  Asia  breeds. 

Amorges,  whom  for  viceroy  he  ordained, 

Revolts,  treasure  and  people  having  gained, 

Plunders  the  country,  and  much  mischief  wrought 

Before  things  could  to  quietness  be  brought. 

The  king  was  glad  with  Sparta  to  make  peace, 

That  so  he  might  those  troubles  soon  appease; 

But  they  in  Asia  must  first  restore 

All  towns  held  by  his  ancestors  before. 

The  king  much  profit  reaped  by  this  league, 

Regains  his  own,  then  doth  the  rebel  break, 

Whose  strength  by  Grecians'  help  was  overthrown, 

And  so  each  man  again  possessed  his  own. 

This  king,  Cambyses-like,  his  sister  wed, 

To  which  his  pride  more  than  his  lust  him  led; 


The  Four  Monarchies  135 

For  Persian  kings  then  deemed  themselves  so  good 

No  match  was  high  enough  but  their  own  blood. 

Two  sons  she  bore,  the  youngest  Cyrus  named, 

A  prince  whose  worth  by  Xenophon  is  famed. 

His  father  would  no  notice  of  that  take, 

Prefers  his  brother  for  his  birthright's  sake. 

But  Cyrus  scorns  his  brother's  feeble  wit, 

And  takes  more  on  him  than  was  judged  fit. 

The  king,  provoked,  sends  for  him  to  the  court, 

Meaning  to  chastise  him  in  sharpest  sort; 

But  in  his  slow  approach  ere  he  came  there 

His  father  died,  so  put  an  end  to  his  fear. 

About  nineteen  years  this  Nothus  reigned,  which  run, 

His  large  dominions  left  to  his  eldest  son. 

ARTAXERXES    MNEMON. 
Mnemon  now  sat  upon  his  father's  throne, 
Yet  fears  all  he  enjoys  is  not  his  own; 
Still  on  his  brother  casts  a  jealous  eye, 
Judging  his  aftions  tend  to  his  injury. 
Cyrus,  on  the  other  side,  weighs  in  his  mind 
What  help  in  his  enterprise  he's  like  to  find. 
His  interest  in  the  kingdom,  now  next  heir, 
More  dear  to  his  mother  than  his  brother  far, 
His  brother's  little  love  like  to  be  gone, 
Held  by  his  mother's  intercession  — 
These  and  like  motives  hurry  him  amain 
To  win  by  force  what  right  could  not  obtain; 


136       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

And  thought  it  best  now  in  his  mother's  time 

By  lower  steps  toward  the  top  to  climb. 

If  in  his  enterprise  he  should  fall  short, 

She  to  the  king  would  make  a  fair  report; 

He  hoped  if  fraud  nor  force  the  crown  would  gain 

Her  prevalence  a  pardon  might  obtain. 

From  the  lieutenant  first  he  takes  away 

Some  towns,  commodious  in  Less  Asia, 

Pretending  still  the  profit  of  the  king, 

Whose  rents  and  customs  duly  he  sent  in. 

The  king,  finding  revenues  now  amended, 

For  what  was  done  seemed  no  whit  offended. 

Then  next  he  takes  the  Spartans  into  pay — 

One  Greek  could  make  ten  Persians  run  away. 

Great  care  was  his  pretense  those  soldiers  stout 

The  rovers  in  Pisidia  should  drive  out; 

But  lest  some  blacker  news  should  fly  to  court 

Prepares  himself  to  carry  the  report, 

And  for  that  end  five  hundred  horse  he  chose. 

With  posting  speed  on  toward  the  king  he  goes. 

But  fame,  more  quick,  arrives  ere  he  comes  there, 

And  fills  the  court  with  tumult  and  with  fear. 

The  old  queen  and  the  young  at  bitter  jars, 

The  last  accused  the  first  for  these  sad  wars; 

The  wife  against  the  mother  still  doth  cry 

To  be  the  author  of  conspiracy. 

The  king,  dismayed,  a  mighty  host  doth  raise, 

Which  Cyrus  hears,  and  so  foreslows  his  pace; 


The  Four  Monarchies  137 

But  as  he  goes  his  forces  still  augments, — 

Seven  hundred  Greeks  repair  for  his  intents, 

And  others  to  be  warmed  by  this  new  sun 

In  numbers  from  his  brother  daily  run. 

The  fearful  king  at  last  musters  his  forces, 

And  counts  nine  hundred  thousand  foot  and  horses. 

Three  hundred  thousand  he  to  Syria  sent 

To  keep  those  straits  his  brother  to  prevent. 

Their  captain,  hearing  but  of  Cyrus*  name, 

Forsook  his  charge,  to  his  eternal  shame. 

This  place  so  made  by  nature  and  by  art 

Few  might  have  kept  it  had  they  had  a  heart. 

Cyrus  despaired  a  passage  there  to  gain, 

So  hired  a  fleet  to  waft  him  o'er  the  main. 

The  amazed  king  was  then  about  to  fly 

To  Badlria,  and  for  a  time  there  lie, 

Had  not  his  captains,  sore  against  his  will, 

By  reason  and  by  force  detained  him  still. 

Up  then  with  speed  a  mighty  trench  he  throws 

For  his  security  against  his  foes, 

Six  yards  the  depth  and  forty  miles  in  length, 

Some  fifty  or  else  sixty  foot  in  breadth; 

Yet  for  his  brother's  coming  durst  not  stay, — 

He  safest  was  when  farthest  out  of  the  way. 

Cyrus,  finding  his  camp  and  no  man  there, 

Was  not  a  little  jocund  at  his  fear. 

On  this  he  and  his  soldiers  careless  grow, 

And  here  and  there  in  carts  their  arms  they  throw, 


1 3  8       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

When  suddenly  their  scouts  come  in  and  cry, 

"Arm!  Arm!  The  king  with  all  his  host  is  nigh!' 

In  this  confusion,  each  man  as  he  might 

Gets  on  his  arms,  arrays  himself  for  fight, 

And  ranged  stood  by  great  Euphrates'  side 

The  brunt  of  that  huge  multitude  to  abide, 

Of  whose  great  numbers  their  intelligence 

Was  gathered  by  the  dust  that  rose  from  thence, 

Which  like  a  mighty  cloud  darkened  the  sky, 

And  black  and  blacker  grew  as  they  drew  nigh. 

But  when  their  order  and  their  silence  saw, 

That  more  than  multitudes  their  hearts  did  awe; 

For  tumult  and  confusion  they  expefted, 

And  all  good  discipline  to  be  neglefted. 

But  long  under  their  fears  they  did  not  stay, 

For  at  first  charge  the  Persians  ran  away, 

Which  did  such  courage  to  the  Grecians  bring 

They  all  adored  Cyrus  for  their  king; 

So  had  he  been,  and  got  the  viftory, 

Had  not  his  too  much  valor  put  him  by. 

He  with  six  hundred  on  a  squadron  set 

Of  thousands  six  wherein  the  king  was  yet, 

And  brought  his  soldiers  on  so  gallantly 

They  ready  were  to  leave  their  king  and  fly; 

Whom  Cyrus  spies,  cries  loud,  "  I  see  the  man!" 

And  with  a  full  career  at  him  he  ran. 

And  in  his  speed  a  dart  him  hit  in  the  eye; — 

Down  Cyrus  falls,  and  yields  to  destiny. 


The  Four  Monarchies  139 

His  host  in  chase  know  not  of  this  disaster, 

But  tread  down  all  so  to  advance  their  master; 

But  when  his  head  they  spy  upon  a  lance, 

Who  knows  the  sudden  change  made  by  this  chance? 

Senseless  and  mute  they  stand,  yet  breathe  out  groans, 

Nor  Gorgon's  head  like  this  transformed  to  stones. 

After  this  trance  revenge  new  spirits  blew, 

And  now  more  eagerly  their  foes  pursue, 

And  heaps  on  heaps  such  multitudes  they  laid 

Their  arms  grew  weary  by  their  slaughters  made. 

The  king  unto  a  country  village  flies, 

And  for  a  while  unkingly  there  he  lies; 

At  last  displays  his  ensign  on  a  hill, 

Hoping  by  that  to  make  the  Greeks  stand  still, 

But  was  deceived.      To  him  they  run  amain; 

The  king  upon  the  spur  runs  back  again. 

But  they,  too  faint  still  to  pursue  their  game, 

Being  viclors  oft  now  to  their  camp  they  came, 

Nor  lacked  they  any  of  their  number  small, 

Nor  wound  received  but  one  among  them  all. 

The  king,  with  his  dispersed,  also  encamped, 

With  infamy  upon  each  forehead  stamped. 

His  hurried  thoughts  he  after  re-collefts; 

Of  this  day's  cowardice  he  fears  the  effefts. 

If  Greeks  in  their  own  country  should  declare 

What  dastards  in  the  field  the  Persians  are, 

They  in  short  time  might  place  one  on  his  throne, 

And  rob  him  both  of  scepter  and  of  crown. 


1 40       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Braastreet 

To  hinder  their  return  by  craft  or  force 

He  judged  his  wisest  and  his  safest  course; 

Then  sends  that  to  his  tent  they  straight  address, 

And  there  all  wait  his  mercy  weaponless. 

The  Greeks  with  scorn  rejeft  his  proud  commands, 

Asking  no  favor  where  they  feared  no  bands. 

The  troubled  king  his  herald  sends  again, 

And  sues  for  peace,  that  they  his  friends  remain. 

The  smiling  Greeks  reply  they  first  must  bait; 

They  were  too  hungry  to  capitulate. 

The  king  great  store  of  all  provision  sends, 

And  courtesy  to  the  utmost  he  pretends; 

Such  terror  on  the  Persians  then  did  fall 

They  quaked  to  hear  them  to  each  other  call. 

The  king,  perplexed,  there  dares  not  let  them  stay, 

And  fears  as  much  to  let  them  march  away. 

But  kings  ne'er  want  such  as  can  serve  their  will, 

Fit  instruments  to  accomplish  what  is  ill; 

As  Tissaphernes,  knowing  his  master's  mind, 

Their  chief  commanders  feasts,  and  yet  more  kind, 

With  all  the  oaths  and  deepest  flattery, 

Gets  them  to  treat  with  him  in  privacy, 

But  violates  his  honor  and  his  word, 

And  villain-like  there  puts  them  all  to  the  sword. 

The  Greeks,  seeing  their  valiant  captains  slain, 

Chose  Xenophon  to  lead  them  home  again. 

But  Tissaphernes  what  he  could  devise 

Did  stop  the  way  in  this  their  enterprise; 


The  Four  Monarchies  141 

But  when  through  difficulties  all  they  brake, 

The  country  burned  they  no  relief  might  take. 

But  on  they  march,  through  hunger  and  through  cold, 

O'er  mountains,  rocks,  and  hills,  as  lions  bold; 

Nor  rivers'  course  nor  Persians'  force  could  stay, 

But  on  to  Trebizond  they  kept  their  way. 

There  was  of  Greeks  settled  a  colony, 

Who  after  all  received  them  joyfully. 

Thus  finishing  their  travail,  danger,  pain, 

In  peace  they  saw  their  native  soil  again. 

The  Greeks  now,  as  the  Persian  king  suspefted, 

The  Asiatics'  cowardice  detected  — 

The  many  victories  themselves  did  gain, 

The  many  thousand  Persians  they  had  slain, 

And  how  their  nation  with  facility 

Might  gain  the  universal  monarchy. 

They  then  Dercyllidas  send  with  an  host, 

Who  with  the  Spartans  on  the  Asian  coast 

Town  after  town  with  small  resistance  takes, 

Which  rumor  makes  great  Artaxerxes  quake. 

The  Greeks  by  this  success  encouraged  so, 

Their  king  Agesilaus  doth  over  go. 

By  Tissaphernes  he  's  encountered, 

Lieutenant  to  the  king;  but  soon  he  fled, 

Which  overthrow  incensed  the  king  so  sore 

That  Tissaphern  must  be  viceroy  no  more. 

Tithraustes  then  is  placed  in  his  stead, 

Commission  hath  to  take  the  other's  head; 


142       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Of  that  perjurious  wretch  this  was  the  fate, 

Whom  the  old  queen  did  bear  a  mortal  hate. 

Tithraustes  trusts  more  to  his  wit  than  arms, 

And  hopes  by  craft  to  quit  his  master's  harms. 

He  knows  that  many  a  town  in  Greece  envies 

The  Spartan  state,  which  now  so  fast  did  rise; 

To  them  he  thirty  thousand  talents  sent, 

With  suit  their  arms  against  their  foes  be  bent. 

They  to  their  discontent  receiving  hire, 

With  broils  and  quarrels  set  all  Greece  on  fire. 

Agesilaus  is  called  home  with  speed. 

To  defend,  more  than  offend,  there  was  need. 

Their  winnings  lost,  and  peace  they  're  glad  to  take 

On  such  conditions  as  the  king  will  make. 

Dissension  in  Greece  continued  so  long 

Till  many  a  captain  fell,  both  wise  and  strong, 

Whose  courage  naught  but  death  could  ever  tame. 

'Mongst  these  Epaminondas  wants  no  fame, 

Who  had,  as  noble  Raleigh  doth  evince, 

All  the  peculiar  virtues  of  a  prince. 

But  let  us  leave  these  Greeks  to  discord  bent, 

And  turn  to  Persia,  as  is  pertinent. 

The  king,  from  foreign  parts  now  well  at  ease, 

His  home-bred  troubles  sought  how  to  appease. 

The  two  queens  by  his  means  seem  to  abate 

Their  former  envy  and  inveterate  hate; 

But  the  old  queen,  implacable  in  strife, 

By  poison  caused  the  young  to  lose  her  life. 


The  Four  Monarchies  143 

The  king,  highly  enraged,  doth  thereupon 
From  court  exile  her  unto  Babylon; 
But  shortly  calls  her  home,  her  counsels  prize, 
A  lady  very  wicked,  but  yet  wise. 
Then  in  voluptuousness  he  leads  his  life, 
And  weds  his  daughter  for  a  second  wife. 
But  long  in  ease  and  pleasure  did  not  lie; 
His  sons  sore  vexed  him  by  disloyalty. 
Such  as  would  know  at  large  his  wars  and  reign, 
What  troubles  in  his  house  he  did  sustain, 
His  match  incestuous,  cruelties  of  the  queen, 
His  life  may  read  in  Plutarch  to  be  seen. 
Forty-three  years  he  ruled,  then  turned  to  dust, 
A  king  nor  good,  nor  valiant,  wise,  nor  just. 

DARIUS   OCHUS. 
Ochus,  a  wicked  and  rebellious  son, 
Succeeds  in  the  throne,  his  father  being  gone. 
Two  of  his  brothers  in  his  father's  days, 
To  his  great  grief,  most  subtilely  he  slays; 
And,  being  king,  commands  those  that  remain 
Of  brethren  and  of  kindred  to  be  slain. 
Then  raises  forces,  conquers  Egypt  land, 
Which  in  rebellion  sixty  years  did  stand, 
And  in  the  twenty-third  of  his  cruel  reign 
Was  by  his  eunuch,  the  proud  Bagoas,  slain. 


1 44       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Brads treet 

ARSAMES,   OR    ARSES. 
Arsames,  placed  now  in  his  father's  stead 
By  him  that  late  his  father  murdered, 
Some  write  that  Arsames  was  Ochus'  brother, 
Enthroned  by  Bagoas  in  the  room  of  the  other; 
But  why  his  brother  'fore  his  son  succeeds 
I  can  no  reason  give,  'cause  none  I  read. 
His  brother,  as  't  is  said,  long  since  was  slain, 
And  scarce  a  nephew  left  that  now  might  reign. 
What  afts  he  did  time  hath  not  now  left  penned, 
But  most  suppose  in  him  did  Cyrus  end, 
Whose  race  long  time  had  worn  the  diadem, 
But  now's  devolved  to  another  stem. 
Three  years  he  reigned,  then  drank  his  father's  cup 
By  the  same  eunuch  who  first  set  him  up. 

DARIUS    CODOMANNUS. 

Darius,  by  this  Bagoas  set  in  throne, — 
Complotter  with  him  in  the  murder  done, — 
He  was  no  sooner  settled  in  his  reign 
But  Bagoas  falls  to  his  practices  again, 
And  the  same  sauce  had  served  him,  no  doubt, 
But  that  his  treason  timely  was  found  out; 
And  so  this  wretch,  a  punishment  too  small, 
Lost  but  his  life  for  his  horrid  treasons  all. 
This  Codomannus  now  upon  the  stage 
Was  to  his  predecessors  chamber-page. 


The  Four  Monarchies  145 

Some  write  great  Cyrus'  line  was  not  yet  run, 

But  from  some  daughter  this  new  king  was  sprung. 

If  so  or  not  we  cannot  tell,  but  find 

That  several  men  will  have  their  several  mind. 

Yet  in  such  differences  we  may  be  bold 

With  the  learned  and  judicious  still  to  hold; 

And  this  'mongst  all  *s  no  controverted  thing, 

That  this  Darius  was  last  Persian  king, 

Whose  wars  and  losses  we  may  better  tell 

In  Alexander's  reign,  who  did  him  quell: 

How  from  the  top  of  world's  felicity 

He  fell  to  depths  of  greatest  misery; 

Whose  honors,  treasures,  pleasures,  had  short  stay  — 

One  deluge  came  and  swept  them  all  away, 

And  in  the  sixth  year  of  his  hapless  reign 

Of  all  did  scarce  his  winding-sheet  remain; 

And  last,  a  sad  catastrophe  to  end, 

Him  to  the  grave  did  traitor  Bessus  send. 

The  End  of  the  Persian  Monarchy. 


10 


1 46        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

THE  THIRD  MONARCHY,  BEING  THE 
GRECIAN,  BEGINNING  UNDER  ALEX 
ANDER  THE  GREAT  IN  THE  ONE 
HUNDRED  AND  TWELFTH  OLYMPIAD. 

Great  Alexander  was  wise  Philip's  son, 

He  to  Amyntas,  kings  of  Macedon; 

The  cruel,  proud  Olympias  was  his  mother, 

She  to  Epirus'  warlike  king  was  daughter. 

This  prince,  his  father  by  Pausanias  slain, 

The  twenty-first  of  his  age  began  to  reign. 

Great  were  the  gifts  of  nature  which  he  had, 

His  education  much  to  those  did  add; 

By  art  and  nature  both  he  was  made  fit 

To  accomplish  that  which  long  before  was  writ. 

The  very  day  of  his  nativity 

To  the  ground  was  burned  Diana's  temple  high, 

An  omen  of  their  near  approaching  woe 

Whose  glory  to  the  earth  this  king  did  throw. 

His  rule  to  Greece  he  scorned  should  be  confined; 

The  universe  scarce  bound  his  proud,  vast  mind. 

This  is  the  he-goat  which  from  Grecia  came, 

That  ran  in  choler  on  the  Persian  ram, 

That  brake  his  horns,  that  threw  him  on  the  ground; 

To  save  him  from  his  might  no  man  was  found. 

Philip  on  this  great  conquest  had  an  eye, 

But  death  did  terminate  those  thoughts  so  high; 

The  Greeks  had  chose  him  captain-general, 

Which  honor  to  his  son  did  now  befall. 


The  Four  Monarchies  147 

For  as  world's  monarch  now  we  speak  not  on, 

But  as  the  king  of  little  Macedon. 

Restless  both  day  and  night  his  heart  then  was 

His  high  resolves  which  way  to  bring  to  pass; 

Yet  for  a  while  in  Greece  he  's  forced  to  stay, 

Which  makes  each  moment  seem  more  than  a  day. 

Thebes  and  stiff  Athens  both  'gainst  him  rebel; 

Their  mutinies  by  valor  doth  he  quell. 

This  done,  against  both  right  and  nature's  laws 

His  kinsmen  put  to  death,  who  gave  no  cause, 

That  no  rebellion  in  his  absence  be, 

Nor  making  title  unto  sovereignty; 

And  all  whom  he  suspefts  or  fears  will  climb 

Now  taste  of  death,  lest  they  deserve  it  in  time. 

Nor  wonder  is  it  if  he  in  blood  begin, 

For  cruelty  was  his  parental  sin. 

Thus  eased  now  of  troubles  and  of  fears, 

Next  spring  his  course  to  Asia  he  steers; 

Leaves  sage  Antipater  at  home  to  sway, 

And  through  the  Hellespont  his  ships  made  way. 

Coming  to  land,  his  dart  on  shore  he  throws, 

Then  with  alacrity  he  after  goes; 

And  with  a  bounteous  heart  and  courage  brave 

His  little  wealth  among  his  soldiers  gave. 

And  being  asked  what  for  himself  was  left, 

Replied,  Enough,  sith  only  hope  he  kept. 

Thirty-two  thousand  made  up  his  foot  force, 

To  which  were  joined  five  thousand  goodly  horse. 


1 48        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

Then  on  he  marched.    In  his  way  he  viewed  old  Troy, 

And  on  Achilles'  tomb  with  wondrous  joy 

He  offered,  and  for  good  success  did  pray 

To  him,  his  mother's  ancestor,  men  say. 

When  news  of  Alexander  came  to  court, 

To  scorn  at  him  Darius  had  good  sport; 

Sends  him  a  frothy  and  contemptuous  letter: 

Styles  him  disloyal  servant,  and  no  better; 

Reproves  him  for  his  proud  audacity 

To  lift  his  hand  'gainst  such  a  monarchy. 

Then  to  his  lieutenant  he  in  Asia  sends 

That  he  be  taken  alive,  for  he  intends 

To  whip  him  well  with  rods,  and  so  to  bring 

That  boy  so  malapert  before  the  king. 

Ah,  fond,  vain  man,  whose  pen  ere  while 

In  lower  terms  was  taught  a  higher  style! 

To  river  Granicus  Alexander  hies, 

Which  in  Phrygia  near  Propontis  lies. 

The  Persians  ready  for  encounter  stand, 

And  strive  to  keep  his  men  from  off  the  land; 

Those  banks  so  steep  the  Greeks  yet  scramble  up. 

And  beat  the  coward  Persians  from  the  top, 

And  twenty  thousand  of  their  lives  bereave, 

Who  in  their  backs  did  all  their  wounds  receive. 

This  viftory  did  Alexander  gain 

With  loss  of  thirty-four  of  his  there  slain. 

Then  Sardis  he,  and  Ephesus,  did  gain, 

Where  stood  of  late  Diana's  wondrous  fane. 


The  Four  Monarchies  149 

And  by  Parmenio,  of  renowned  fame, 
Miletus  and  Pamphylia  overcame; 
Halicarnassus  and  Pisidia 
He  for  his  master  takes,  with  Lycia. 
Next  Alexander  marched  toward  the  Black  Sea, 
And  easily  takes  old  Gordium  in  his  way, 
Of  ass-eared  Midas  once  the  regal  seat, 
Whose  touch  turned  ail  to  gold,  yea,  e'en  his  meat. 
There  the  prophetic  knot  he  cuts  in  twain, 
Which  whoso  doth  must  lord  of  all  remain. 
Now  news  of  Memnon's  death,  the  king's  viceroy, 
To  Alexander's  heart 's  no  little  joy, 
For  in  that  peer  more  valor  did  abide 
Than  in  Darius'  multitude  beside. 
In  his  stead  was  Arses  placed,  but  durst  not  stay, 
Yet  set  one  in  his  room,  and  ran  away; 
His  substitute,  as  fearful  as  his  master, 
Runs  after,  too,  and  leaves  all  to  disaster. 
Then  Alexander  all  Cilicia  takes, 
No  stroke  for  it  he  struck,  their  hearts  so  quake. 
To  Greece  he  thirty  thousand  talents  sends 
To  raise  more  force  to  further  his  intents. 
Then  o'er  he  goes  Darius  now  to  meet, 
Who  came  with  thousand  thousands  at  his  feet  — 
Though  some  there  be,  perhaps  more  likely,  write 
He  but  four  hundred  thousand  had  to  fight; 
The  rest  attendants,  which  made  up  no  less, 
Both  sexes  there  were  almost  numberless. 
IOA 


1 50       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

For  this  wise  king  had  brought,  to  see  the  sport, 

With  him  the  greatest  ladies  of  the  court, 

His  mother,  his  beauteous  queen  and  daughters, 

It  seems,  to  see  the  Macedonian  slaughters. 

It  's  much  beyond  my  time  and  little  art 

To  show  how  great  Darius  played  his  part, 

The  splendor  and  the  pomp  he  marched  in, 

For  since  the  world  was  no  such  pageant  seen. 

Sure  't  was  a  goodly  sight  there  to  behold 

The  Persians  clad  in  silk  and  glistering  gold, 

The  stately  horses  trapped,  the  lances  gilt, 

As  if  addressed  now  all  to  run  a  tilt. 

The  holy  fire  was  borne  before  the  host, 

For  sun  and  fire  the  Persians  worship  most; 

The  priests,  in  their  strange  habit,  follow  after, 

An  object  not  so  much  of  fear  as  laughter. 

The  king  sat  in  a  chariot  made  of  gold, 

With  crown  and  robes  most  glorious  to  behold, 

And  o'er  his  head  his  golden  gods  on  high 

Support  a  party-colored  canopy. 

A  number  of  spare  horses  next  were  led, 

Lest  he  should  need  them  in  his  chariot's  stead; 

But  those  that  saw  him  in  this  state  to  lie 

Supposed  he  neither  meant  to  fight  nor  fly. 

He  fifteen  hundred  had  like  women  dressed, 

For  thus  to  fright  the  Greeks  he  judged  was  best; 

Their  golden  ornaments  how  to  set  forth 

Would  ask  more  time  than  were  their  bodies  worth, 


The  Four  Monarchies  151 

Great  Sisygambis  she  brought  up  the  rear; 

Then  such  a  world  of  wagons  did  appear, 

Like  several  houses  moving  upon  wheels, 

As  if  she  'd  drawn  whole  Shushan  at  her  heels. 

This  brave  virago  to  the  king  was  mother, 

And  as  much  good  she  did  as  any  other. 

Now  lest  this  gold  and  all  this  goodly  stuff 

Had  not  been  spoil  and  booty  rich  enough, 

A  thousand  mules  and  camels  ready  wait 

Laden  with  gold,  with  jewels,  and  with  plate. 

For  sure  Darius  thought  at  the  first  sight 

The  Greeks  would  all  adore  but  none  would  fight. 

But  when  both  armies  met,  he  might  behold 

That  valor  was  more  worth  than  pearls  or  gold, 

And  that  his  wealth  served  but  for  baits  to  allure 

To  make  his  overthrow  more  fierce  and  sure. 

The  Greeks  came  on,  and  with  a  gallant  grace 

Let  fly  their  arrows  in  the  Persians'  face. 

The  cowards,  feeling  this  sharp,  stinging  charge, 

Most  basely  ran,  and  left  their  king  at  large, 

Who  from  his  golden  coach  is  glad  to  alight 

And  cast  away  his  crown  for  swifter  flight. 

Of  late  like  some  immovable  he  lay; 

Now  finds  both  legs  and  horse  to  run  away. 

Two  hundred  thousand  men  that  day  were  slain, 

And  forty  thousand  prisoners  also  ta'en, 

Besides  the  queens  and  ladies  of  the  court, 

If  Curtius  be  true  in  his  report. 


1 5  2       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

The  regal  ornaments  were  lost,  the  treasure 

Divided  at  the  Macedonian's  pleasure. 

Yet  all  this  grief,  this  loss,  this  overthrow, 

Was  but  beginning  of  his  future  woe. 

The  royal  captives  brought  to  Alexander, 

Toward  them  demeaned  himself  like  a  commander; 

For  though  their  beauties  were  unparalleled, 

Conquered  himself  now  he  who  'd  conquered, 

Preserved  their  honor,  used  them  bounteously, 

Commands  no  man  should  do  them  injury; — 

And  this  to  Alexander  is  more  fame 

Than  that  the  Persian  king  he  overcame. 

Two  hundred  eighty  Greeks  he  lost  in  fight 

By  too  much  heat,  not  wounds,  as  authors  write. 

No  sooner  had  this  vidlor  won  the  fields 

But  all  Phenicia  to  his  pleasure  yields, 

Of  which  the  government  he  doth  commit 

Unto  Parmenio,  of  all  most  fit. 

Darius,  now  less  lofty  than  before, 

To  Alexander  writes  he  would  restore 

Those  mournful  ladies  from  captivity, 

For  whom  he  offers  him  a  ransom  high 

But  down  his  haughty  stomach  could  not  bring 

To  give  this  conqueror  the  style  of  king. 

This  letter  Alexander  doth  disdain, 

And  in  short  terms  sends  this  reply  again: 

A  king  he  was,  and  that  not  only  so, 

But  of  Darius  king,  as  he  should  know. 


The  Four  Monarchies  153 

Next  Alexander  unto  Tyre  doth  go. 

His  valor  and  his  victories  they  know; 

To  gain  his  love  the  Tyrians  intend, 

Therefore  a  crown  and  great  provision  send. 

Their  present  he  receives  with  thankfulness, 

Desires  to  offer  unto  Hercules, 

Proteftor  of  their  town,  by  whom  defended, 

And  from  whom  he  lineally  descended. 

But  they  accept  not  this  in  any  wise 

Lest  he  intend  more  fraud  than  sacrifice; 

Sent  word  that  Hercules  his  temple  stood 

In  the  old  town,  which  then  lay  like  a  wood. 

With  this  reply  he  was  so  deep  enraged 

To  win  the  town  his  honor  he  engaged; 

And  now,  as  Babel's  king  did  once  before, 

He  leaves  not  till  he  made  the  sea  firm  shore. 

But  far  less  time  and  cost  he  did  expend  — 

The  former  ruins  forwarded  his  end; 

Moreover,  he  'd  a  navy  at  command, 

The  other  by  his  men  fetched  all  by  land. 

In  seven  months'  time  he  took  that  wealthy  town, 

Whose  glory  now  a  second  time  's  brought  down. 

Two  thousand  of  the  chief  he  crucified, 

Eight  thousand  by  the  sword  then  also  died, 

And  thirteen  thousand  galley-slaves  he  made; 

And  thus  the  Tyrians  for  mistrust  were  paid. 

The  rule  of  this  he  to  Philotas  gave, 

Who  was  the  son  of  that  Parmenio  brave. 


I  $4       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

Cilicia  to  Socrates  doth  give, 

For  now  's  the  time  captains  like  kings  may  live. 

Sidon  he  on  Hephaestion  bestows, 

For  that  which  freely  comes  as  freely  goes; 

He  scorns  to  have  one  worse  than  had  the  other, 

So  gives  his  little  lordship  to  another. 

Hephaestion,  having  chief  command  of  the  fleet, 

At  Gaza  now  must  Alexander  meet. 

Darius,  finding  troubles  still  increase, 

By  his  ambassadors  now  sues  for  peace, 

And  lays  before  great  Alexander's  eyes 

The  dangers,  difficulties,  like  to  rise: 

First  at  Euphrates  what  he  is  like  to  abide, 

And  then  at  Tigris'  and  Araxes'  side; 

These  he  may  escape,  and  if  he  so  desire 

A  league  of  friendship  make  firm  and  entire. 

His  eldest  daughter  he  in  marriage  proffers, 

And  a  most  princely  dowry  with  her  offers  — 

All  those  rich  kingdoms  large  that  do  abide 

Betwixt  the  Hellespont  and  Halys'  side. 

But  he  with  scorn  his  courtesy  rejedls, 

And  the  distressed  king  no  whit  respefts; 

Tells  him  these  proffers  great  in  truth  were  none, 

For  all  he  offers  now  was  but  his  own. 

But  quoth  Parmenio,  that  brave  commander, 

"Were  I  as  great  as  is  great  Alexander 

Darius'  offers  I  would  not  rejeft, 

But  the  kingdoms  and  the  lady  soon  accept." 


The  Four  Monarchies  155 

To  which  proud  Alexander  made  reply, 

"And  so,  if  I  Parmenio  were,  would  I." 

He  now  to  Gaza  goes,  and  there  doth  meet 

His  favorite  Hephasstion  with  his  fleet, 

Where  valiant  Beds  stoutly  keeps  the  town, 

A  loyal  subject  to  Darius'  crown. 

For  more  repulse  the  Grecians  here  abide 

Than  in  the  Persian  monarchy  beside; 

And  by  these  walls  so  many  men  were  slain 

That  Greece  was  forced  to  yield  supply  again. 

But  yet  this  well  defended  town  was  taken, 

For  't  was  decreed  that  empire  should  be  shaken. 

Thus  Beds  taken  had  holes  bored  through  his  feet, 

And  by  command  was  drawn  through  every  street 

To  imitate  Achilles  in  his  shame, 

Who  did  the  like  to  Heftor,  of  more  fame. 

What!  hast  thou  lost  thy  magnanimity? 

Can  Alexander  deal  thus  cruelly? 

Sith  valor  with  heroics  is  renowned 

Though  in  an  enemy  it  should  be  found, 

If  of  thy  future  fame  thou  hadst  regard 

Why  didst  not  heap  up  honors  and  reward? 

From  Gaza  to  Jerusalem  he  goes, 

But  in  no  hostile  way,  as  I  suppose. 

Him  in  his  priestly  robes  high  Jaddua  meets, 

Whom  with  great  reverence  Alexander  greets; 

The  priest  shows  him  good  Daniel's  prophecy, 

How  he  should  overthrow  this  monarchy, 


1 56       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

By  which  he  was  so  much  encouraged 

No  future  dangers  he  did  ever  dread. 

From  thence  to  fruitful  Egypt  marched  with  speed, 

Where  happily  in  his  wars  he  did  succeed; 

To  see  how  fast  he  gained  was  no  small  wonder, 

For  in  few  days  he  brought  that  kingdom  under. 

Then  to  the  fane  of  Jupiter  he  went, 

To  be  installed  a  god  was  his  intent; 

The  pagan  priest,  through  hire,  or  else  mistake, 

The  son  of  Jupiter  did  straight  him  make. 

He  diabolical  must  needs  remain 

That  his  humanity  will  not  retain. 

Thence  back  to  Egypt  goes,  and  in  few  days 

Fair  Alexandria  from  the  ground  doth  raise. 

Then  settling  all  things  in  Less  Asia, 

In  Syria,  Egypt,  and  Phenicia, 

Unto  Euphrates  marched  and  over  goes, 

For  no  man  's  there  his  army  to  oppose. 

Had  Betis  but  been  there  now  with  his  band, 

Great  Alexander  had  been  kept  from  land. 

But  as  the  king,  so  is  the  multitude, 

And  now  of  valor  both  are  destitute. 

Yet  he,  poor  prince,  another  host  doth  muster 

Of  Persians,  Scythians,  Indians,  in  a  cluster, 

Men  but  in  shape  and  name,  of  valor  none, 

Most  fit  to  blunt  the  swords  of  Macedon. 

Two  hundred  fifty  thousand,  by  account, 

Of  horse  and  foot  his  army  did  amount. 


The  Four  Monarchies  157 

For  in  his  multitudes  his  trust  still  lay, 

But  on  their  fortitude  he  had  small  stay; 

Yet  had  some  hope  that  on  the  spacious  plain 

His  numbers  might  the  victory  obtain. 

About  this  time  Darius'  beauteous  queen, 

Who  had  sore  travail  and  much  sorrow  seen, 

Now  bids  the  world  adieu,  with  pain  being  spent, 

Whose  death  her  lord  full  sadly  did  lament. 

Great  Alexander  mourns  as  well  as  he, 

The  more  because  not  set  at  liberty. 

When  this  sad  news  at  first  Darius  hears, 

Some  injury  was  offered,  he  fears; 

But  when  informed  how  royally  the  king 

Had  use*d  her  and  hers  in  everything, 

He  prays  the  immortal  gods  they  would  reward 

Great  Alexander  for  this  good  regard; 

And  if  they  down  his  monarchy  will  throw, 

Let  them  on  him  this  dignity  bestow. 

And  now  for  peace  he  sues,  as  once  before, 

And  offers  all  he  did  and  kingdoms  more, 

His  eldest  daughter  for  his  princely  bride, — 

Nor  was  such  match  in  all  the  world  beside, — 

And  all  those  countries  which  betwixt  did  lie 

Phenician  sea  and  great  Euphrates  high, 

With  fertile  Egypt,  and  rich  Syria, 

And  all  those  kingdoms  in  Less  Asia, 

With  thirty  thousand  talents  to  be  paid 

For  the  queen  mother  and  the  royal  maid; 


158        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

And  till  all  this  be  well  performed  and  sure 

Ochus  his  son  for  hostage  should  endure. 

To  this  stout  Alexander  gives  no  ear, 

No,  though  Parmenio  plead,  yet  will  not  hear; 

Which  had  he  done,  perhaps  his  fame  he  'd  kept, 

Nor  infamy  had  waked  when  he  had  slept. 

For  his  unlimited  prosperity 

Him  boundless  made  in  vice  and  cruelty. 

Thus  to  Darius  he  writes  back  again: 

"  The  firmament  two  suns  cannot  contain; 

Two  monarchies  on  earth  cannot  abide, 

Nor  yet  two  monarchs  in  one  world  reside." 

The  afflicted  king,  finding  him  set  to  jar, 

Prepares  against  to-morrow  for  the  war. 

Parmenio  Alexander  wished  that  night 

To  force  his  camp,  so  vanquish  them  by  flight; 

For  tumult  in  the  night  doth  cause  most  dread, 

And  weakness  of  a  foe  is  covered. 

But  he  disdained  to  steal  a  viftory: 

The  sun  should  witness  of  his  valor  be; 

And  careless  in  his  bed  next  morn  he  lies, 

By  captains  twice  he  's  called  before  he  '11  rise. 

The  armies  joined,  a  while  the  Persians  fight, 

And  spilled  the  Greeks  some  blood  before  their  flight; 

But  long  they  stood  not  ere  they  're  forced  to  run, 

So  made  an  end  as  soon  as  well  begun. 

Forty-five  thousand  Alexander  had, 

But  't  is  not  known  what  slaughter  here  was  made. 


The  Four  Monarchies  159 

Some  write  the  other  had  a  million,  some  more, 

But  Quintus  Curtius  as  was  said  before. 

At  Arbela  this  viftory  was  gained, 

Together  with  the  town  also  obtained. 

Darius,  stripped  of  all,  to  Media  came, 

Accompanied  with  sorrow,  fear,  and  shame; 

At  Arbela  left  ornaments  and  treasure 

Which  Alexander  deals  as  suits  his  pleasure. 

This  conqueror  to  Babylon  then  goes, 

Is  entertained  with  joy  and  pompous  shows; 

With  showers  of  flowers  the  streets  along  are  strown, 

And  incense  burned  the  silver  altars  on. 

The  glory  of  the  castle  he  admires, 

The  strong  foundation  and  the  lofty  spires; 

In  this  a  world  of  gold  and  treasure  lay 

Which  in  few  hours  was  carried  all  away. 

With  greedy  eyes  he  views  this  city  round 

Whose  fame  throughout  the  world  was  so  renowned, 

And  to  possess  he  counts  no  little  bliss 

The  towers  and  bowers  of  proud  Semiramis; 

Though  worn  by  time,  and  razed  by  foes  full  sore, 

Yet  old  foundations  showed,  and  somewhat  more. 

With  all  the  pleasures  that  on  earth  are  found 

This  city  did  abundantly  abound, 

Where  four  and  thirty  days  he  now  did  stay 

And  gave  himself  to  banqueting  and  play. 

He  and  his  soldiers  wax  effeminate, 

And  former  discipline  begin  to  hate. 


1 60        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Whilst  reveling  at  Babylon  he  lies, 

Antipater  from  Greece  sends  fresh  supplies. 

He  then  to  Shushan  goes  with  his  new  bands, 

But  needs  no  force;  't  is  rendered  to  his  hands. 

He  likewise  here  a  world  of  treasure  found, 

For  't  was  the  seat  of  Persian  kings  renowned. 

Here  stood  the  royal  houses  of  delight 

Where  kings  have  shown  their  glory,  wealth,  and  might, 

The  sumptuous  palace  of  Queen  Esther  here, 

And  of  good  Mordecai,  her  kinsman  dear. 

Those  purple  hangings  mixed  with  green  and  white, 

Those  beds  of  gold  and  couches  of  delight, 

And  furniture  the  richest  in  all  lands 

Now  fall  into  the  Macedonian's  hands. 

From  Shushan  to  Persepolis  he  goes, 

Which  news  doth  still  augment  Darius'  woes. 

In  his  approach  the  governor  sends  word 

For  his  receipt  with  joy  they  all  accord: 

With  open  gates  the  wealthy  town  did  stand, 

And  all  in  it  was  at  his  high  command. 

Of  all  the  cities  that  on  earth  were  found 

None  like  to  this  in  riches  did  abound. 

Though  Babylon  was  rich,  and  Shushan,  too, 

Yet  to  compare  with  this  they  might  not  do. 

Here  lay  the  bulk  of  all  those  precious  things 

That  did  pertain  unto  the  Persian  kings, 

For  when  the  soldiers  rifled  had  their  pleasure, 

And  taken  money,  plate,  and  golden  treasure, 


The  Four  Monarchies  161 

Statues,  some  gold,  and  silver  numberless, 
Yet  after  all,  as  stories  do  express, 
The  share  of  Alexander  did  amount 
To  an  hundred  thousand  talents  by  account. 
Here  of  his  own  he  sets  a  garrison, 
As  first  at  Shushan  and  at  Babylon. 
On  their  old  governors  titles  he  laid, 
But  on  their  faithfulness  he  never  stayed  — 
Their  places  gave  to  his  captains,  as  was  just, 
For  such  revolters  false  what  king  can  trust? 
The  riches  and  the  pleasures  of  this  town 
Now  make  this  king  his  virtues  all  to  drown. 
He  walloweth  in  all  licentiousness, 
In  pride  and  cruelty  to  high  excess. 
Being  inflamed  with  wine  upon  a  season, 
Filled  with  madness,  and  quite  void  of  reason, 
He  at  a  bold  proud  strumpet's  lewd  desire 
Commands  to  set  this  goodly  town  on  fire. 
Parmenio  wise  entreats  him  to  desist, 
And  lays  before  his  eyes,  if  he  persist, 
His  fame's  dishonor,  loss  unto  his  state, 
And  just  procuring  of  the  Persians'  hate. 
But,  deaf  to  reason,  bent  to  have  his  will, 
Those  stately  streets  with  raging  flame  did  fill. 
Then  to  Darius  he  diredls  his  way, 
Who  was  retired  as  far  as  Media, 
And  there,  with  sorrows,  fears,  and  cares  surrounded, 
Had  now  his  army  fourth  and  last  compounded, 
II 


162       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Which  forty  thousand  made.      Now  his  intent 

Was  these  in  Baftria  soon  to  augment; 

But,  hearing  Alexander  was  so  near, 

Thought  now  this  once  to  try  his  fortunes  here, 

And  rather  choose  an  honorable  death 

Than  still  with  infamy  to  draw  his  breath. 

But  Bessus  false,  who  was  his  chief  commander, 

Persuades  him  not  to  fight  with  Alexander. 

With  sage  advice  he  sets  before  his  eyes 

The  little  hope  of  profit  like  to  rise; 

If  when  he  *d  multitudes  the  day  he  lost, 

Then  with  so  few  how  likely  to  be  crossed. 

This  counsel  for  his  safety  he  pretended, 

But  to  deliver  him  to  his  foe  intended. 

Next  day  this  treason  to  Darius  known, 

Transported  sore  with  grief  and  passion, 

Grinding  his  teeth,  and  plucking  off  his  hair, 

He  sat  overwhelmed  with  sorrow  and  despair; 

Then  bids  his  servant  Artabazus  true 

Look  to  himself,  and  leave  him  to  that  crew 

Who  was  of  hopes  and  comforts  quite  bereft 

And  by  his  guard  and  servitors  all  left. 

Straight  Bessus  comes,  and  with  his  traitorous  hands 

Lays  hold  on  his  lord,  and,  binding  him  with  bands, 

Throws  him  into  a  cart  covered  with  hides, — 

Who,  wanting  means  to  resist  these  wrongs,  abides, — 

Then  draws  the  cart  along  with  chains  of  gold 

In  more  despite  the  thralled  prince  to  hold. 


The  Four  Monarchies  163 

And  thus  toward  Alexander  on  he  goes. 
Great  recompense  for  this  he  did  propose. 
But  some,  detesting  this  his  wicked  fact, 
To  Alexander  flies  and  tells  this  aft, 
Who,  doubling  of  his  march,  posts  on  amain 
Darius  from  that  traitor's  hands  to  gain. 
Bessus  gets  knowledge  his  disloyalty- 
Had  Alexander's  wrath  incensed  high, 
Whose  army  now  was  almost  within  sight. 
His  hopes  being  dashed,  prepares  himself  for  flight. 
Unto  Darius  first  he  brings  a  horse, 
And  bids  him  save  himself  by  speedy  course. 
The  woeful  king  his  courtesy  refuses, 
Whom  thus  the  execrable  wretch  abuses: 
By  throwing  darts  gave  him  his  mortal  wound, 
Then  slew  his  servants  that  were  faithful  found, 
Yea,  wounds  the  beasts  that  drew  him  unto  death, 
And  leaves  him  thus  to  gasp  out  his  last  breath. 
Bessus  his  partner  in  this  tragedy 
Was  the  false  governor  of  Media. 
This  done,  they  with  their  host  soon  speed  away 
To  hide  themselves  remote  in  Baftria. 
Darius,  bathed  in  blood,  sends  out  his  groans, 
Invokes  the  heavens  and  earth  to  hear  his  moans; 
His  lost  felicity  did  grieve  him  sore, 
But  this  unheard-of  treachery  much  more  — 
But  above  all  that  neither  ear  nor  eye 
Should  hear  nor  see  his  dying  misery. 


1 64       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

As  thus  he  lay,  Polystratus,  a  Greek, 

Wearied  with  his  long  march,  did  water  seek, 

So  chanced  these  bloody  horses  to  espy, 

Whose  wounds  had  made  their  skins  of  purple  dye; 

To  them  repairs,  then,  looking  in  the  cart, 

Finds  poor  Darius  pierced  to  the  heart, 

Who,  not  a  little  cheered  to  have  some  eye 

The  witness  of  this  horrid  tragedy, 

Prays  him  to  Alexander  to  commend 

The  just  revenge  of  this  his  woeful  end, 

And  not  to  pardon  such  disloyalty 

Of  treason,  murder,  and  base  cruelty  — 

If  not  because  Darius  thus  did  pray, 

Yet  that  succeeding  kings  in  safety  may 

Their  lives  enjoy,  their  crowns,  and  dignity, 

And  not  by  traitors'  hands  untimely  die. 

He  also  sends  his  humble  thankfulness 

For  all  the  kingly  grace  he  did  express 

To  his  mother,  children  dear,  and  wife  now  gone, 

Which  made  their  long  restraint  seem  to  be  none; 

Praying  the  immortal  gods  that  sea  and  land 

Might  be  subjected  to  his  royal  hand, 

And  that  his  rule  as  far  extended  be 

As  men  the  rising,  setting,  sun  shall  see. 

This  said,  the  Greek  for  water  doth  entreat 

To  quench  his  thirst  and  to  allay  his  heat. 

"  Of  all  good  things,"  quoth  he,  "once  in  my  power, 

I  Jve  nothing  left,  at  this  my  dying  hour, 


The  Four  Monarchies  165 

Thy  service  and  compassion  to  reward; 

But  Alexander  will,  for  this  regard." 

This  said,  his  fainting  breath  did  fleet  away, 

And  though  a  monarch  late,  now  lies  like  clay. 

And  thus  must  every  son  of  Adam  lie; 

Though  gods  on  earth,  like  sons  of  men  they  die. 

Now  to  the  East  great  Alexander  goes 

To  see  if  any  dare  his  might  oppose; 

For  scarce  the  world  or  any  bounds  thereon 

Could  bound  his  boundless  fond  ambition. 

Such  as  submit,  again  he  doth  restore 

Their  riches,  and  their  honors  he  makes  more; 

On  Artabazus  more  than  all  bestowed 

For  his  fidelity  to  his  master  showed. 

Thalestris,  queen  of  the  Amazons,  now  brought 

Her  train  to  Alexander,  as  't  is  thought; 

Though  most  of  reading  best  and  soundest  mind 

Such  country  there  nor  yet  such  people  find. 

Than  tell  her  errand  we  had  better  spare; 

To  the  ignorant  her  title  will  declare. 

As  Alexander  in  his  greatness  grows, 

So  daily  of  his  virtues  doth  he  lose: 

He  baseness  counts  his  former  clemency, 

And  not  beseeming  such  a  dignity; 

His  past  sobriety  doth  also  'bate, 

As  most  incompatible  to  his  state; 

His  temperance  is  but  a  sordid  thing, 

Noways  becoming  such  a  mighty  king. 

IIA 


1 66       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

His  greatness  now  he  takes  to  represent 

His  fancied  gods  above  the  firmament, 

And  such  as  showed  but  reverence  before 

Now  are  commanded  strictly  to  adore. 

With  Persian  robes  himself  doth  dignify, 

Charging  the  same  on  his  nobility; 

His  manners,  habits,  gestures,  all  did  fashion 

After  that  conquered  and  luxurious  nation. 

His  captains  that  were  virtuously  inclined 

Grieved  at  this  change  of  manners  and  of  mind; 

The  ruder  sort  did  openly  deride 

His  feigned  deity  and  foolish  pride. 

The  certainty  of  both  comes  to  his  ears, 

But  yet  no  notice  takes  of  what  he  hears. 

With  those  of  worth  he  still  desires  esteem, 

So  heaps  up  gifts  his  credit  to  redeem, 

And  for  the  rest  new  wars  and  travels  finds 

That  other  matters  might  take  up  their  minds. 

And  hearing  Bessus  makes  himself  a  king, 

Intends  that  traitor  to  his  end  to  bring. 

Now  that  his  host  from  luggage  might  be  free, 

And  with  his  burden  no  man  burdened  be, 

Commands  forthwith  each  man  his  fardel  bring 

Into  the  market-place  before  the  king; 

Which  done,  sets  fire  upon  those  goodly  spoils, 

The  recompense  of  travels,  wars,  and  toils, 

And  thus  unwisely  in  a  madding  fume 

The  wealth  of  many  kingdoms  did  consume. 


The  Four  Monarchies  167 

But  marvel  Jt  is  that  without  mutiny 

The  soldiers  should  let  pass  this  injury; 

Nor  wonder  less  to  readers  may  it  bring 

Here  to  observe  the  rashness  of  the  king. 

Now  with  his  army  doth  he  post  away 

False  Bessus  to  find  out  in  Baftria; 

But,  much  distressed  for  water  in  their  march, 

The  drought  and  heat  their  bodies  sore  did  parch. 

At  length  they  came  to  the  river  Oxus'  brink, 

Where  most  immoderately  these  thirsty  drink, 

Which  more  mortality  to  them  did  bring 

Than  all  their  wars  against  the  Persian  king. 

Here  Alexander  's  almost  at  a  stand 

To  pass  the  river  to  the  other  land; 

Boats  here  are  none,  nor  near  it  any  wood 

To  make  them  rafts  to  waft  them  o'er  the  flood. 

But  he  that  was  resolved  in  his  mind 

Would  without  means  some  transportation  find. 

Then  from  the  carriages  the  hides  he  takes, 

And,  stuffing  them  with  straw,  he  bundles  makes; 

On  these  together  tied  in  six  days'  space 

They  all  pass  over  to  the  other  place. 

Had  Bessus  there  but  valor  to  his  will, 

With  little  pain  he  might  have  kept  them  still. 

Coward,  he  durst  not  fight,  nor  could  he  fly; 

Hated  of  all  for  his  former  treachery, 

He  's  by  his  own  now  bound  in  iron  chains, 

A  collar  of  the  same  his  neck  contains, 


1 68        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

And  in  this  sort  they  rather  drag  than  bring 
This  malefaftor  vile  before  the  king, 
Who  to  Darius'  brother  gives  the  wretch 
With  racks  and  tortures  every  limb  to  stretch. 
Here  was  of  Greeks  a  town  in  Baftria 
Whom  Xerxes  from  their  country  led  away. 
These  not  a  little  joyed  this  day  to  see 
Wherein  their  own  had  got  the  sovereignty, 
And,  now  revived,  with  hopes  held  up  their  head 
From  bondage  long  to  be  enfranchised. 
But  Alexander  puts  them  to  the  sword 
Without  least  cause  from  them  in  deed  or  word, 
Nor  sex  nor  age,  nor  one  nor  other  spared, 
But  in  his  cruelty  alike  they  shared; 
Nor  reason  could  he  give  for  this  great  wrong 
But  that  they  had  forgot  their  mother  tongue. 
While  thus  some  time  he  spent  in  Ba6lria, 
And  in  his  camp  strong  and  securely  lay, 
Down  from  the  mountains  twenty  thousand  came 
And  there  most  fiercely  set  upon  the  same; 
Repelling  these,  two  marks  of  honor  got, 
Imprinted  in  his  leg  by  arrows  shot. 
The  Ba&rians  against  him  now  rebel; 
But  he  their  stubbornness  in  time  doth  quell. 
From  thence  he  to  Jaxartes  river  goes, 
Where  Scythians  rude  his  army  do  oppose, 
And  with  their  outcries  in  an  hideous  sort 
Beset  his  camp,  or  military  court, 


The  Four  Monarchies  169 

Of  darts  and  arrows  made  so  little  spare 

They  flew  so  thick  they  seemed  to  dark  the  air. 

But  soon  his  soldiers  forced  them  to  a  flight; 

Their  nakedness  could  not  endure  their  might. 

Upon  this  river's  bank  in  seventeen  days 

A  goodly  city  doth  completely  raise, 

Which  Alexandria  he  doth  likewise  name, 

And  sixty  furlongs  could  but  round  the  same. 

A  third  supply  Antipater  now  sent, 

Which  did  his  former  forces  much  augment; 

And  being  one  hundred  twenty  thousand  strong, 

He  enters  then  the  Indian  kings  among. 

Those  that  submit,  he  gives  them  rule  again; 

Such  as  do  not,  both  they  and  theirs  are  slain. 

His  wars  with  sundry  nations  I  '11  omit, 

And  also  of  the  Malliens  what  is  writ: 

His  fights,  his  dangers,  and  the  hurts  he  had; 

How  to  submit  their  necks  at  last  they  're  glad. 

To  Nysa  he  goes,  by  Bacchus  built  long  since, 

Whose  feasts  are  celebrated  by  this  prince; 

Nor  had  that  drunken  god  one  who  would  take 

His  liquors  more  devoutly  for  his  sake. 

When  thus  ten  days  his  brain  with  wine  he  'd  soaked, 

And  with  delicious  meats  his  palate  choked, 

To  the  river  Indus  next  his  course  he  bends. 

Boats  to  prepare  Hephaestion  first  he  sends, 

Who,  coming  thither  long  before  his  lord, 

Had  to  his  mind  made  all  things  to  accord; 


1 70       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

The  vessels  ready  were  at  his  command, 
And  Omphis,  king  of  that  part  of  the  land, 
Through  his  persuasion  Alexander  meets 
And  as  his  sovereign  lord  him  humbly  greets. 
Fifty-six  elephants  he  brings  to  his  hand, 
And  tenders  him  the  strength  of  all  his  land; 
Presents  himself  first  with  a  golden  crown, 
Then  eighty  talents  to  his  captains  down. 
But  Alexander  made  him  to  behold 
He  glory  sought,  no  silver,  no,  nor  gold; 
His  presents  all  with  thanks  he  did  restore, 
And  of  his  own  a  thousand  talents  more. 
Thus  all  the  Indian  kings  to  him  submit 
But  Porus  stout,  who  will  not  yield  as  yet. 
To  him  doth  Alexander  thus  declare: 
His  pleasure  is  that  forthwith  he  repair 
Unto  his  kingdom's  borders  and,  as  due, 
His  homage  to  himself  as  sovereign  do. 
But  kingly  Porus  this  brave  answer  sent, 
That  to  attend  him  there  was  his  intent, 
And  come  as  well  provided  as  he  could; 
But  for  the  rest  his  sword  advise  him  should. 
Great  Alexander,  vexed  at  this  reply, 
Did  more  his  valor  than  his  crown  envy; 
He  Js  now  resolved  to  pass  Hydaspes'  flood, 
And  there  by  force  his  sovereignty  make  good. 
Stout  Porus  on  the  banks  doth  ready  stand 
To  give  him  welcome  when  he  comes  to  land; 


The  Four  Monarchies  171 

A  potent  army  with  him,  like  a  king, 
And  ninety  elephants  for  war  did  bring. 
Had  Alexander  such  resistance  seen 
On  Tigris'  side,  here  now  he  had  not  been. 
Within  this  spacious  river,  deep  and  wide, 
Did  here  and  there  isles  full  of  trees  abide. 
His  army  Alexander  doth  divide, 
With  Ptolemy  sends  part  to  the  other  side; 
Porus  encounters  them,  thinks  all  are  there, 
When  covertly  the  rest  get  o'er  elsewhere, 
And  whilst  the  first  he  valiantly  assailed, 
The  last  set  on  his  back,  and  so  prevailed. 
Yet  work  enough  here  Alexander  found, 
For  to  the  last  stout  Porus  kept  his  ground; 
Nor  was  it  dishonor  at  length  to  yield 
When  Alexander  strives  to  win  the  field. 
The  kingly  captive  'fore  the  viftor  's  brought; 
In  looks  or  gesture  not  abased  aught, 
But  him  a  prince  of  an  undaunted  mind 
Did  Alexander  by  his  answers  find. 
His  fortitude  his  royal  foe  commends, 
Restores  him,  and  his  bounds  farther  extends. 
Now  eastward  Alexander  would  go  still, 
But  so  to  do  his  soldiers  had  no  will; 
Long  with  excessive  travels  wearied, 
Could  by  no  means  be  farther  drawn  or  led. 
Yet  that  his  fame  might  to  posterity 
Be  had  in  everlasting  memory, 


172       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Brads treet 

He  for  his  camp  a  greater  circuit  takes, 

And  for  his  soldiers  larger  cabins  makes; 

His  mangers  he  erected  up  so  high 

As  never  horse  his  provender  could  eye; 

Huge  bridles  made,  which  here  and  there  he  left, 

Which  might  be  found  and  for  great  wonders  kept. 

Twelve  altars  then  for  monuments  he  rears, 

Whereon  his  afts  and  travels  long  appear; 

But  doubting  wearing  time  might  these  decay, 

And  so  his  memory  would  fade  away, 

He  on  the  fair  Hydaspes'  pleasant  side 

Two  cities  built,  his  name  might  there  abide: 

First,  Nicaea;  the  next,  Bucephalon, 

Where  he  entombed  his  stately  stallion. 

His  fourth  and  last  supply  was  hither  sent, 

Then  down  Hydaspes  with  his  fleet  he  went. 

Some  time  he  after  spent  upon  that  shore, 

Whither  ambassadors,  ninety  or  more, 

Came  with  submission  from  the  Indian  kings, 

Bringing  their  presents  rare  and  precious  things. 

These  all  he  feasts  in  state  on  beds  of  gold, 

His  furniture  most  sumptuous  to  behold; 

His  meat  and  drink,  attendants,  everything, 

To  the  utmost  showed  the  glory  of  a  king. 

With  rich  rewards  he  sent  them  home  again, 

Acknowledging  their  masters  sovereign. 

Then  sailing  south  and  coming  to  that  shore, 

Those  obscure  nations  yielded  as  before. 


The  Four  Monarchies  173 

A  city  here  he  built,  called  by  his  name, 

Which  could  not  sound  too  oft  with  too  much  fame. 

Then  sailing  by  the  mouth  of  Indus'  flood, 

His  galleys  stuck  upon  the  flats  and  mud, 

Which  the  stout  Macedonians  amazed  sore, 

Deprived  at  once  the  use  of  sail  and  oar. 

Observing  well  the  nature  of  the  tide, 

In  those  their  fears  they  did  not  long  abide. 

Passing  fair  Indus'  mouth,  his  course  he  steered 

To  the  coast  which  by  Euphrates'  mouth  appeared, 

Whose  inlets  near  unto  he  winter  spent, 

Unto  his  starved  soldiers'  small  content  — 

By  hunger  and  by  cold  so  many  slain 

That  of  them  all  the  fourth  did  scarce  remain. 

Thus  winter,  soldiers,  and  provisions  spent, 

From  thence  he  then  unto  Gedrosia  went; 

And  thence  he  marched  into  Carmania, 

And  so  at  length  drew  near  to  Persia. 

Now  through  these  goodly  countries  as  he  passed 

Much  time  in  feasts  and  rioting  did  waste. 

Then  visits  Cyrus'  sepulcher  in  his  way, 

Who  now  obscure  at  Pasargadae  lay; 

Upon  his  monument  his  robe  he  spread, 

And  set  his  crown  on  his  supposed  head. 

From  thence  to  Babylon;  some  time  there  spent. 

He  at  the  last  to  royal  Shushan  went. 

A  wedding  feast  to  his  nobles  then  he  makes, 

And  Statira,  Darius'  daughter,  takes; 


1 74       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Her  sister  gives  to  his  Hephaestion  dear, 
That  by  this  match  he  might  be  yet  more  near. 
He  fourscore  Persian  ladies  also  gave 
At  this  same  time  unto  his  captains  brave. 
Six  thousand  guests  unto  this  feast  invites, 
Whose  senses  all  were  glutted  with  delights. 
It  far  exceeds  my  mean  abilities 
To  shadow  forth  these  short  felicities; 
Spectators  here  could  scarce  relate  the  story, 
They  were  so  rapt  with  this  external  glory. 
If  an  ideal  paradise  a  man  would  frame, 
He  might  this  feast  imagine  by  the  same. 
To  every  guest  a  cup  of  gold  he  sends. 
So  after  many  days  the  banquet  ends. 
Now  Alexander's  conquests  all  are  done, 
And  his  long  travails  past  and  overgone; 
His  virtues  dead,  buried,  and  quite  forgot, 
But  vice  remains  to  his  eternal  blot. 
'Mongst  those  that  of  his  cruelty  did  taste 
Philotas  was  not  least  nor  yet  the  last. 
Accused  because  he  did  not  certify 
The  king  of  treason  and  conspiracy, 
Upon  suspicion  being  apprehended, 
Nothing  was  proved  wherein  he  had  offended 
But  silence,  which  was  of  such  consequence 
He  was  judged  guilty  of  the  same  offense. 
But  for  his  father's  great  deserts  the  king 
His  royal  pardon  gave  for  this  foul  thing. 


The  Four  Monarchies  175 

/ 

Yet  is  Philotas  unto  judgment  brought, 

Must  suffer,  not  for  what  is  proved,  but  thought. 

His  master  is  accuser,  judge,  and  king, 

Who  to  the  height  doth  aggravate  each  thing, 

Inveighs  against  his  father  now  absent, 

And  his  brethren  who  for  him  their  lives  had  spent. 

But  Philotas  his  unpardonable  crime 

No  merit  could  obliterate  or  time: 

He  did  the  oracle  of  Jove  deride 

By  which  His  Majesty  was  deified. 

Philotas,  thus  o'ercharged  with  wrong  and  grief, 

Sunk  in  despair  without  hope  of  relief, 

Fain  would  have  spoke  and  made  his  own  defense; 

The  king  would  give  no  ear,  but  went  from  thence, 

To  his  malicious  foes  delivers  him 

To  wreak  their  spite  and  hate  on  every  limb. 

Philotas  after  him  sends  out  this  cry: 

"O  Alexander,  thy  free  clemency 

My  foes  exceeds  in  malice,  and  their  hate 

Thy  kingly  word  can  easily  terminate." 

Such  torments  great  as  wit  could  worst  invent 

Or  flesh  and  life  could  bear  till  both  were  spent 

Were  now  inflicted  on  Parmenio's  son, 

He  might  accuse  himself,  as  they  had  done; 

At  last  he  did,  so  they  were  justified, 

And  told  the  world  that  for  his  guilt  he  died. 

But  how  these  captains  should,  or  yet  their  master, 

Look  on  Parmenio  after  this  disaster 


1 76       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

They  knew  not,  wherefore  best  now  to  be  done 

Was  to  despatch  the  father  as  the  son. 

This  sound  advice  at  heart  pleased  Alexander, 

Who  was  so  much  engaged  to  this  commander 

As  he  would  ne'er  confess  nor  yet  reward, 

Nor  could  his  captains  bear  so  great  regard; 

Wherefore  at  once,  all  these  to  satisfy, 

It  was  decreed  Parmenio  should  die. 

Polydamas,  who  seemed  Parmenio' s  friend, 

To  do  this  deed  they  into  Media  send; 

He  walking  in  his  garden  to  and  fro, 

Fearing  no  harm,  because  he  none  did  do, 

Most  wickedly  was  slain  without  least  crime, 

The  most  renowned  captain  of  his  time. 

This  is  Parmenio  who  so  much  had  done 

For  Philip  dead  and  his  surviving  son, 

Who  from  a  petty  king  of  Macedon 

By  him  was  set  upon  the  Persian  throne; 

This  that  Parmenio  who  still  overcame, 

Yet  gave  his  master  the  immortal  fame; 

Who  for  his  prudence,  valor,  care,  and  trust 

Had  this  reward,  most  cruel  and  unjust. 

The  next  who  in  untimely  death  had  part 

Was  one  of  more  esteem  but  less  desert  — 

Clitus,  beloved  next  to  Hephaestion, 

And  in  his  cups  his  chief  companion. 

When  both  were  drunk,  Clitus  was  wont  to  jeer; 

Alexander  to  rage,  to  kill,  and  swear. 


The  Four  Monarchies  177 

Nothing  more  pleasing  to  mad  Clitus'  tongue 
Than  his  master's  godhead  to  defy  and  wrong; 
Nothing  touched  Alexander  to  the  quick 
Like  this  against  his  deity  to  kick. 
Both  at  a  feast,  when  they  had  tippled  well, 
Upon  this  dangerous  theme  fond  Clitus  fell; 
From  jest  to  earnest,  and  at  last  so  bold 
That  of  Parmenio's  death  him  plainly  told, 
Which  Alexander's  wrath  incensed  so  high 
Naught  but  his  life  for  this  could  satisfy. 
From  one  stood  by  he  snatched  a  partizan, 
And  in  a  rage  him  through  the  body  ran. 
Next  day  he  tore  his  face  for  what  he  'd  done, 
And  would  have  slain  himself  for  Clitus  gone; 
This  pot  companion  he  did  more  bemoan 
Than  all  the  wrongs  to  brave  Parmenio  done. 
The  next  of  worth  that  suffered  after  these 
Was  learned,  virtuous,  wise  Callisthenes, 
Who  loved  his  master  more  than  did  the  rest, 
As  did  appear  in  flattering  him  the  least. 
In  his  esteem  a  god  he  could  not  be, 
Nor  would  adore  him  for  a  deity; 
For  this  alone,  and  for  no  other  cause 
Against  his  sovereign  or  against  his  laws, 
He  on  the  rack  his  limbs  in  pieces  rent. 
Thus  was  he  tortured  till  his  life  was  spent. 
On  this  unkingly  a6l  doth  Seneca 
This  censure  pass,  and  not  unwisely  say 

12 


1 78        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Of  Alexander  this  the  eternal  crime, 

Which  shall  not  be  obliterate  by  time, 

Which  virtue's  fame  can  ne'er  redeem  by  far, 

Nor  all  felicity  of  his  in  war. 

Whene'er  't  is  said  he  thousand  thousands  slew, — 

Yea,  and  Callisthenes  to  death  he  drew. 

The  mighty  Persian  king  he  overcame, — 

Yea,  and  he  killed  Callisthenes  of  fame. 

All  countries,  kingdoms,  provinces,  he  won 

From  Hellespont  to  the  farthest  ocean; 

All  this  he  did,  who  knows  not  to  be  true?  — 

But  yet,  withal,  Callisthenes  he  slew. 

From  Macedon  his  empire  did  extend 

Unto  the  utmost  bounds  of  the  orient; 

All  this  he  did,  yea,  and  much  more,  't  is  true, — 

But  yet,  withal,  Callisthenes  he  slew. 

Now  Alexander  goes  to  Media, 

Finds  there  the  want  of  wise  Parmenio. 

Here  his  chief  favorite,  Hephsestion,  dies. 

He  celebrates  his  mournful  obsequies; 

Hangs  his  physician  —  the  reason  why, 

He  suffered  his  friend  Hephasstion  die. 

This  aft,  methinks,  his  godhead  should  ashame, 

To  punish  where  himself  deserved  blame; 

Or  of  necessity  he  must  imply 

The  other  was  the  greatest  deity. 

The  mules  and  horses  are  for  sorrow  shorn. 

The  battlements  from  off  the  walls  are  torn 


The  Four  Monarchies  179 

Of  stately  Ecbatana,  who  now  must  show 

A  rueful  face  in  this  so  general  woe. 

Twelve  thousand  talents  also  did  intend 

Upon  a  sumptuous  monument  to  spend. 

Whate'er  he  did  or  thought,  not  so  content, 

His  messenger  to  Jupiter  he  sent, 

That  by  his  leave  his  friend  Hephaestion 

Among  the  demigods  they  might  enthrone. 

From  Media  to  Babylon  he  went; 

To  meet  him  there  to  Antipater  he  'd  sent, 

That  he  might  aft  also  upon  the  stage 

And  in  a  tragedy  there  end  his  age. 

The  queen  Olympias  bears  him  deadly  hate, 

Not  suffering  her  to  meddle  with  the  state, 

And  by  her  letters  did  her  son  incite 

This  great  indignity  he  should  requite. 

His  doing  so  no  whit  displeased  the  king, 

Though  to  his  mother  he  disproved  the  thing. 

But  now  Antipater  had  lived  so  long 

He  might  well  die,  though  he  had  done  no  wrong; 

His  service  great  is  suddenly  forgot, 

Or,  if  remembered,  yet  regarded  not. 

The  king  doth  intimate  Jt  was  his  intent 

His  honors  and  his  riches  to  augment, 

Of  larger  provinces  the  rule  to  give, 

And  for  his  counsel  near  the  king  to  live. 

So  to  be  caught  Antipater  's  too  wise; 

Parmenio's  death  's  too  fresh  before  his  eyes. 


1 80       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

He  was  too  subtile  for  his  crafty  foe, 

Nor  by  his  baits  could  be  ensnared  so; 

But  his  excuse  with  humble  thanks  he  sends, 

His  age  and  journey  long  he  then  pretends, 

And  pardon  craves  for  his  unwilling  stay; 

He  shows  his  grief  he  's  forced  to  disobey. 

Before  his  answer  came  to  Babylon 

The  thread  of  Alexander's  life  was  spun; 

Poison  had  put  an  end  to  his  days,  't  was  thought, 

By  Philip  and  Cassander  to  him  brought, 

Sons  to  Antipater,  and  bearers  of  his  cup, 

Lest  of  such  like  their  father  chance  to  sup. 

But  others  thought,  and  that  more  generally, 

That  through  excessive  drinking  he  did  die. 

The  thirty-third  of  his  age  do  all  agree 

This  conqueror  did  yield  to  destiny. 

When  this  sad  news  came  to  Darius'  mother, 

She  laid  it  more  to  heart  than  any  other, 

Nor  meat,  nor  drink,  nor  comfort  would  she  take, 

But  pined  in  grief  till  life  did  her  forsake; 

All  friends  she  shunned,  yea,  banished  the  light, 

Till  death  enwrapped  her  in  perpetual  night. 

This  monarch's  fame  must  last  whilst  world  doth  stand, 

And  conquests  be  talked  of  whilst  there  is  land; 

His  princely  qualities  had  he  retained, 

Unparalleled  for  ever  had  remained. 

But  with  the  world  his  virtues  overcame, 

And  so  with  black  beclouded  all  his  fame. 


The  Four  Monarchies  1 8 1 

Wise  Aristotle,  tutor  to  his  youth, 

Had  so  instructed  him  in  moral  truth, 

The  principles  of  what  he  then  had  learned 

Might  to  the  last,  when  sober,  be  discerned. 

Learning  and  learned  men  he  much  regarded, 

And  curious  artists  evermore  rewarded. 

The  Iliad  of  Homer  he  still  kept, 

And  under  his  pillow  laid  it  when  he  slept. 

Achilles'  happiness  he  did  envy, 

'Cause  Homer  kept  his  afts  to  memory. 

Profusely  bountiful  without  desert, 

For  such  as  pleased  him  had  both  wealth  and  heart; 

Cruel  by  nature  and  by  custom,  too, 

As  oft  his  afts  throughout  his  reign  do  show; 

Ambitious  so  that  naught  could  satisfy, 

Vain,  thirsting  after  immortality, 

Still  fearing  that  his  name  might  hap  to  die, 

And  fame  not  last  unto  eternity. 

This  conqueror  did  oft  lament,  Jt  is  said, 

There  were  no  more  worlds  to  be  conquered. 

This  folly  great  Augustus  did  deride, 

For  had  he  had  but  wisdom  to  his  pride 

He  would  have  found  enough  there  to  be  done 

To  govern  that  he  had  already  won. 

His  thoughts  are  perished,  he  aspires  no  more, 

Nor  can  he  kill  or  save  as  heretofore. 

A  god  alive,  him  all  must  idolize; 

Now  like  a  mortal,  helpless  man  he  lies. 

I2A 


1 82        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Of  all  those  kingdoms  large  which  he  had  got 

To  his  posterity  remained  no  jot; 

For  by  that  hand  which  still  revengeth  blood 

None  of  his  kindred  nor  his  race  long  stood; 

But  as  he  took  delight  much  blood  to  spill, 

So  the  same  cup  to  his  did  others  fill. 

Four  of  his  captains  now  do  all  divide, 

As  Daniel  before  had  prophesied. 

The  leopard  down,  the  four  wings  'gan  to  rise, 

The  great  horn  broke,  the  less  did  tyrannize. 

What  troubles  and  contentions  did  ensue 

We  may  hereafter  show  in  season  due. 

ARRHID^EUS. 

Great  Alexander  dead,  his  army  *s  left 
Like  to  that  giant  of  his  eye  bereft. 
(When  of  his  monstrous  bulk  it  was  the  guide, 
His  matchless  force  no  creature  could  abide; 
But  by  Ulysses  having  lost  his  sight, 
All  men  began  straight  to  contemn  his  might; 
For,  aiming  still  amiss,  his  dreadful  blows 
Did  harm  himself,  but  never  reached  his  foes. ) 
Now  court  and  camp  all  in  confusion  be. 
A  king  they  '11  have,  but  who  none  can  agree; 
Each  captain  wished  this  prize  to  bear  away, 
But  none  so  hardy  found  as  so  durst  say. 
Great  Alexander  did  leave  issue  none, 
Except  by  Artabazus'  daughter  one; 


The  Four  Monarchies  183 

And  Roxane  fair,  whom  late  he  married, 

Was  near  her  time  to  be  delivered. 

By  nature's  right  these  had  enough  to  claim, 

But  meanness  of  their  mothers  barred  the  same, 

Alleged  by  those  who  by  their  subtile  plea 

Had  hope  themselves  to  bear  the  crown  away. 

A  sister  Alexander  had,  but  she 

Claimed  not;  perhaps  her  sex  might  hindrance  be. 

After  much  tumult  they  at  last  proclaimed 

His  base-born  brother,  Arrhidaeus  named, 

That  so  under  his  feeble  wit  and  reign 

Their  ends  they  might  the  better  still  attain. 

This  choice  Perdiccas  vehemently  disclaimed, 

And  babe  unborn  of  Roxane  he  proclaimed. 

Some  wished  him  to  take  the  style  of  king, 

Because  his  master  gave  to  him  his  ring, 

And  had  to  him  still  since  Hephaestion  died 

More  than  the  rest  his  favor  testified; 

But  he  refused,  with  feigned  modesty, 

Hoping  to  be  elecl:  more  generally. 

He  hold  on  this  occasion  should  have  laid, 

For  second  offer  there  was  never  made. 

'Mongst  these  contentions,  tumults,  jealousies, 

Seven  days  the  corpse  of  their  great  master  lies 

Untouched,  uncovered,  slighted,  and  neglefted, 

So  much  these  princes  their  own  ends  respefted  — 

A  contemplation  to  astonish  kings, 

That  he  who  late  possessed  all  earthly  things, 


184       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Brads treet 

And  yet  not  so  content  unless  that  he 

Might  be  esteemed  for  a  deity, 

Now  lay  a  speftacle  to  testify 

The  wretchedness  of  man's  mortality. 

After  some  time,  when  stirs  began  to  calm, 

His  body  did  the  Egyptians  embalm; 

His  countenance  so  lively  did  appear 

That  for  a  while  they  durst  not  come  so  near. 

No  sign  of  poison  in  his  entrails  found, 

But  all  his  bowels  colored  well  and  sound. 

Perdiccas,  seeing  Arrhidaeus  must  be  king, 

Under  his  name  began  to  rule  each  thing. 

His  chief  opponent  who  controlled  his  sway 

Was  Meleager,  whom  he  would  take  away; 

And  by  a  wile  he  got  him  in  his  power, 

So  took  his  life  unworthily  that  hour, 

Using  the  name  and  the  command  of  the  king 

To  authorize  his  adls  in  everything. 

The  princes,  seeing  Perdiccas'  power  and  pride, 

For  their  security  did  now  provide. 

Antigonus  for  his  share  Asia  takes, 

And  Ptolemy  next  sure  of  Egypt  makes; 

Seleucus  afterward  held  Babylon; 

Antipater  had  long  ruled  Macedon. 

These  now  to  govern  for  the  king  pretend, 

But  nothing  less  each  one  himself  intends. 

Perdiccas  took  no  province  like  the  rest, 

But  held  command  of  the  army,  which  was  best, 


The  Four  Monarchies  185 

And  had  a  higher  projeft  in  his  head  — 

His  master's  sister  secretly  to  wed. 

So  to  the  lady  covertly  he  sent, 

That  none  might  know  to  frustrate  his  intent. 

But  Cleopatra  this  suitor  did  deny 

For  Leonnatus,  more  lovely  in  her  eye, 

To  whom  she  sent  a  message  of  her  mind 

That  if  he  came  good  welcome  he  should  find. 

In  these  tumultuous  days  the  thralled  Greeks 

Their  ancient  liberty  afresh  now  seek, 

And  gladly  would  the  yoke  shake  off  laid  on 

Sometime  by  Philip  and  his  conquering  son. 

The  Athenians  force  Antipater  to  fly 

To  Lamia,  where  he  shut  up  doth  lie. 

To  brave  Craterus  then  he  sends  with  speed 

For  succor  to  relieve  him  in  his  need. 

The  like  of  Leonnatus  he  requires  — 

Which  at  this  time  well  suited  his  desires, 

For  to  Antipater  he  now  might  go, 

His  lady  take  in  the  way,  and  no  man  know. 

Antiphilus,  the  Athenian  general, 

With  speed  his  army  doth  together  call 

And  Leonnatus  seeks  to  stop,  that  so 

He  join  not  with  Antipater  their  foe. 

The  Athenian  army  was  the  greater  far, 

Which  did  his  match  with  Cleopatra  mar, 

For,  fighting  still  while  there  did  hope  remain, 

The  valiant  chief  amidst  his  foes  was  slain. 


1 86       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

'  Mongst  all  the  princes  of  great  Alexander 

For  person  none  was  like  to  this  commander. 

Now  to  Antipater  Craterus  goes, 

Blocked  up  in  Lamia  still  by  his  foes; 

Long  marches  through  Cilicia  he  makes, 

And  the  remains  of  Leonnatus  takes. 

With  them  and  his  he  into  Grecia  went, 

Antipater  released  from  prisonment. 

After  which  time  the  Greeks  did  nevermore 

Aft  anything  of  worth  as  heretofore, 

But  under  servitude  their  necks  remained, 

Nor  former  liberty  or  glory  gained. 

Now  died,  about  the  end  of  the  Lamian  war, 

Demosthenes,  that  sweet-tongued  orator, 

Who  feared  Antipater  would  take  his  life 

For  animating  the  Athenian  strife, 

And  to  end  his  days  by  poison  rather  chose 

Than  fall  into  the  hands  of  mortal  foes. 

Craterus  and  Antipater  now  join, 

In  love  and  in  affinity  combine: 

Craterus  doth  his  daughter  Phila  wed 

Their  friendship  might  the  more  be  strengthened. 

Whilst  they  in  Macedon  do  thus  agree, 

In  Asia  they  all  asunder  be. 

Perdiccas  grieved  to  see  the  princes  bold 

So  many  kingdoms  in  their  power  to  hold, 

Yet  to  regain  them  how  he  did  not  know; 

His  soldiers  'gainst  those  captains  would  not  go. 


The  Four  Monarchies  187 

To  suffer  them  go  on  as  they  begun 

Was  to  give  way  himself  might  be  undone. 

With  Antipater  to  join  he  sometimes  thought, 

That  by  his  help  the  rest  might  low  be  brought, 

But  this  again  dislikes;  he  would  remain, 

If  not  in  style,  in  deed  a  sovereign  — 

For  all  the  princes  of  great  Alexander 

Acknowledged  for  chief  that  old  commander. 

Desires  the  king  to  go  to  Macedon, 

Which  once  was  of  his  ancestors  the  throne, 

And  by  his  presence  there  to  nullify 

The  afts  of  his  viceroy  now  grown  so  high. 

Antigonus  of  treason  first  attaints, 

And  summons  him  to  answer  his  complaints. 

This  he  avoids,  and  ships  himself  and  son, 

Goes  to  Antipater  and  tells  what 's  done. 

He  and  Craterus  both  with  him  do  join, 

And  'gainst  Perdiccas  all  their  strength  combine. 

Brave  Ptolemy  to  make  a  fourth  then  sent, 

To  save  himself  from  danger  imminent; 

In  midst  of  these  garboils,  with  wondrous  state 

His  master's  funeral  doth  celebrate; 

In  Alexandria  his  tomb  he  placed, 

Which  eating  time  hath  scarcely  yet  defaced. 

Two  years  and  more  since  nature's  debt  he  paid, 

And  yet  till  now  at  quiet  was  not  laid. 

Great  love  did  Ptolemy  by  this  aft  gain, 

And  made  the  soldiers  on  his  side  remain. 


1 88        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Perdiccas  hears  his  foes  are  all  combined. 
'Gainst  which  to  go  he  's  not  resolved  in  mind, 
But  first  'gainst  Ptolemy  he  judged  was  best, — 
Nearest  to  him,  and  farthest  from  the  rest, — 
Leaves  Eumenes  the  Asian  coast  to  free 
From  the  invasions  of  the  other  three, 
And  with  his  army  unto  Egypt  goes 
Brave  Ptolemy  to  the  utmost  to  oppose. 
Perdiccas'  surly  carriage  and  his  pride 
Did  alienate  the  soldiers  from  his  side; 
But  Ptolemy,  by  his  affability, 
His  sweet  demeanor,  and  his  courtesy, 
Did  make  his  own  firm  to  his  cause  remain, 
And  from  the  other  side  did  daily  gain. 
Perdiccas  in  his  pride  did  ill  entreat 
Pithon,  of  haughty  mind  and  courage  great, 
Who  could  not  brook  so  great  indignity, 
But  of  his  wrongs  his  friends  doth  certify; 
The  soldiers  'gains*  Perdiccas  they  incense, 
Who  vow  to  make  this  captain  recompense, 
And  in  a  rage  they,  rushing  to  his  tent, 
Knock  out  his  brains;  to  Ptolemy  then  went 
And  offer  him  his  honors  and  his  place, 
With  style  of  the  Prote&or  him  to  grace. 
Next  day  into  the  camp  came  Ptolemy, 
And  is  received  of  all  most  joyfully. 
Their  proffers  he  refused  with  modesty, 
Yields  them  to  Pithon  for  his  courtesy. 


The  Four  Monarchies  189 

With  what  he  held  he  was  now  more  content 

Than  by  more  trouble  to  grow  eminent. 

Now  comes  the  news  of  a  great  viftory 

That  Eumenes  got  of  the  other  three. 

Had  it  but  in  Perdiccas'  life  arrived 

With  greater  joy  it  would  have  been  received. 

Thus  Ptolemy  rich  Egypt  did  retain, 

And  Pithon  turned  to  Asia  again. 

Whilst  Perdiccas  encamped  in  Africa, 

Antigonus  did  enter  Asia, 

And  fain  would  Eumenes  draw  to  their  side; 

But  he  alone  most  faithful  did  abide. 

The  others  all  had  kingdoms  in  their  eye, 

But  he  was  true  to  his  master's  family. 

Nor  could  Craterus,  whom  he  much  did  love, 

From  his  fidelity  once  make  him  move. 

Two  battles  he  fought,  and  had  of  both  the  best, 

And  brave  Craterus  slew  among  the  rest; 

For  this  sad  strife  he  pours  out  his  complaints, 

And  his  beloved  foe  full  sore  laments. 

I  should  but  snip  a  story  into  bits, 

And  his  great  afts  and  glory  much  eclipse, 

To  show  the  dangers  Eumenes  befel, 

His  stratagems  wherein  he  did  excel, 

His  policies,  how  he  did  extricate 

Himself  from  out  of  labyrinths  intricate. 

He  that  at  large  would  satisfy  his  mind 

In  Plutarch's  Lives  his  history  may  find. 


1 90        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Brads treet 

For  all  that  should  be  said  let  this  suffice, 

He  was  both  valiant,  faithful,  patient,  wise. 

Pithon  's  now  chosen  protector  of  the  state; 

His  rule  Queen  Eurydice  begins  to  hate, 

Sees  Arrhidaeus  must  not  king  it  long 

If  once  young  Alexander  grow  more  strong. 

But  that  her  husband  serve  for  supplement 

To  warm  his  seat  was  never  her  intent. 

She  knew  her  birthright  gave  her  Macedon, 

Grandchild  to  him  who  once  sat  on  that  throne, 

Who  was  Perdiccas,  Philip's  eldest  brother, 

She  daughter  to  his  son,  who  had  no  other. 

Pithon  commands,  as  oft  she  countermands; 

What  he  appoints,  she  purposely  withstands. 

He,  wearied  out  at  last,  would  needs  be  gone, 

Resigned  his  place,  and  so  let  all  alone. 

In  his  room  the  soldiers  chose  Antipater, 

Who  vexed  the  queen  more  than  the  other  far. 

From  Macedon  to  Asia  he  came 

That  he  might  settle  matters  in  the  same. 

He  placed,  displaced,  controlled,  ruled,  as  he  list, 

And  this  no  man  durst  question  or  resist; 

For  all  the  nobles  of  King  Alexander 

Their  bonnets  veiled  to  him  as  chief  commander. 

When  to  his  pleasure  all  things  they  had  done, 

The  king  and  queen  he  takes  to  Macedon, 

Two  sons  of  Alexander,  and  the  rest, 

All  to  be  ordered  there  as  he  thought  best. 


The  Four  Monarchies  191 

The  army  to  Antigonus  doth  leave, 

And  government  of  Asia  to  him  gave; 

And  thus  Antipater  the  groundwork  lays 

On  which  Antigonus  his  height  doth  raise, 

Who  in  few  years  the  rest  so  overtops 

For  universal  monarchy  he  hopes. 

With  Eumenes  he  divers  battles  fought, 

And  by  his  sleights  to  circumvent  him  sought; 

But  vain  it  was  to  use  his  policy 

'Gainst  him  that  all  deceits  could  scan  and  try. 

In  this  epitome  too  long  to  tell 

How  finely  Eumenes  did  here  excel, 

And  by  the  self-same  traps  the  other  laid 

He  to  his  cost  was  righteously  repaid. 

But  while  these  chieftains  do  in  Asia  fight, 

To  Greece  and  Macedon  let 's  turn  our  sight. 

When  great  Antipater  the  world  must  leave, 

His  place  to  Polysperchon  he  did  bequeath, 

Fearing  his  son  Cassander  was  unstaid, 

Too  rash  to  bear  that  charge,  if  on  him  laid. 

Antigonus,  hearing  of  his  decease, 

On  most  part  of  Assyria  doth  seize. 

And  Ptolemy  next  to  encroach  begins; 

All  Syria  and  Phenicia  he  wins. 

Then  Polysperchon  begins  to  aft  in  his  place, 

Recalls  Olympias  the  court  to  grace. 

Antipater  had  banished  her  from  thence 

Into  Epirus  for  her  great  turbulence; 


192       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

This  new  proteftor  's  of  another  mind, 

Thinks  by  her  majesty  much  help  to  find. 

Cassander  like  his  father  could  not  see 

This  Polysperchon's  great  ability, 

Slights  his  commands,  his  aftions  he  disclaims, 

And  to  be  chief  himself  now  bends  his  aims. 

Such  as  his  father  had  advanced  to  place, 

Or  by  his  favors  any  way  had  graced, 

Are  now  at  the  devotion  of  the  son, 

Pressed  to  accomplish  what  he  would  have  done. 

Besides,  he  was  the  young  queen's  favorite, 

On  whom,  't  was  thought,  she  set  her  chief  delight. 

Unto  these  helps  at  home  he  seeks  out  more, 

Goes  to  Antigonus  and  doth  implore, 

By  all  the  bonds  'twixt  him  and  his  father  past, 

And  for  that  great  gift  which  he  gave  him  last, 

By  these  and  all  to  grant  him  some  supply 

To  take  down  Polysperchon  grown  so  high. 

For  this  Antigonus  did  need  no  spurs, 

Hoping  to  gain  yet  more  by  these  new  stirs, 

Straight  furnished  him  with  a  sufficient  aid, 

And  so  he  quick  returns  thus  well  appaid; 

With  ships  at  sea,  an  army  for  the  land, 

His  proud  opponent  he  hopes  soon  to  withstand. 

But  in  his  absence  Polysperchon  takes 

Such  friends  away  as  for  his  interest  makes 

By  death,  by  prison,  or  by  banishment, 

That  no  supply  by  these  here  might  be  lent. 


The  Four  Monarchies  193 

Cassander  with  his  host  to  Grecia  goes, 
Whom  Polysperchon  labors  to  oppose, 
But  beaten  was  at  sea  and  foiled  at  land. 
Cassander' s  forces  had  the  upper  hand. 
Athens  with  many  towns  in  Greece  beside 
Firm  for  his  father's  sake  to  him  abide. 
Whilst  hot  in  wars  these  two  in  Greece  remain, 
Antigonus  doth  all  in  Asia  gain; 
Still  labors  Eumenes  would  with  him  side, 
But  all  in  vain;  he  faithful  did  abide, 
Nor  mother  could  nor  sons  of  Alexander 
Put  trust  in  any  but  in  this  commander. 
The  great  ones  now  begin  to  show  their  mind, 
And  aft  as  opportunity  they  find. 
Arrhidaeus,  the  scorned  and  simple  king, 
More  than  he  bidden  was  could  aft  no  thing. 
Polysperchon,  for  oifice  hoping  long, 
Thinks  to  enthrone  the  prince  when  riper  grown. 
Eurydice  this  injury  disdains, 
And  to  Cassander  of  this  wrong  complains. 
Hateful  the  name  and  house  of  Alexander 
Was  to  this  proud  and  vindictive  Cassander; 
He  still  kept  locked  within  his  memory 
His  father's  danger,  with  his  family, 
Nor  thought  he  that  indignity  was  small 
When  Alexander  knocked  his  head  to  the  wall. 
These,  with  his  love  unto  the  amorous  queen, 
Did  make  him  vow  her  servant  to  be  seen. 
13 


1 94       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Olympias  Arrhidasus  deadly  hates, 
As  all  her  husband's  children  by  his  mates; 
She  gave  him  poison  formerly,  't  is  thought, 
Which  damage  both  to  mind  and  body  brought. 
She  now  with  Polysperchon  doth  combine 
To  make  the  king  by  force  his  seat  resign, 
And  her  young  grandchild  in  his  state  enthrone, 
That  under  him  she  might  rule  all  alone. 
For  aid  she  goes  to  Epirus  among  her  friends 
The  better  to  accomplish  these  her  ends. 
Eurydice,  hearing  what  she  intends, 
In  haste  unto  her  friend  Cassander  sends 
To  leave  his  siege  at  Tegea,  and  with  speed 
To  save  the  king  and  her  in  this  their  need; 
Then  by  entreaties,  promises,  and  coin 
Some  forces  did  procure  with  her  to  join. 
Olympias  soon  enters  Macedon. 
The  queen  to  meet  her  bravely  marches  on; 
But  when  her  soldiers  saw  their  ancient  queen, 
Calling  to  mind  what  sometime  she  had  been, — 
The  wife  and  mother  of  their  famous  kings, — 
Nor  darts  nor  arrows  now  none  shoots  or  flings. 
The  king  and  queen,  seeing  their  destiny, 
To  save  their  lives  to  Amphipolis  do  fly; 
But  the  old  queen  pursues  them  with  her  hate, 
And  needs  will  have  their  lives  as  well  as  state. 
The  king  by  extreme  torments  had  his  end, 
And  to  the  queen  these  presents  she  did  send  — 


The  Four  Monarchies  195 

A  halter,  cup  of  poison,  and  a  sword, 

Bids  choose  her  death,  such  kindness  she  '11  afford. 

The  queen,  with  many  a  curse  and  bitter  check, 

At  length  yields  to  the  halter  her  fair  neck, 

Praying  that  fatal  day  might  quickly  haste 

On  which  Olympias  of  the  like  might  taste. 

This  done,  the  cruel  queen  rests  not  content. 

'Gainst  all  that  loved  Cassander  she  was  bent: 

His  brethren,  kinsfolk,  and  his  chiefest  friends 

That  fell  within  her  reach  came  to  their  ends; 

Digged  up  his  brother  dead,  'gainst  nature's  right, 

And  threw  his  bones  about  to  show  her  spite. 

The  courtiers,  wondering  at  her  furious  mind, 

Wished  in  Epirus  she  'd  been  still  confined. 

In  Peloponnesus  then  Cassander  lay, 

Where  hearing  of  this  news  he  speeds  away; 

With  rage  and  with  revenge  he  's  hurried  on 

To  find  this  cruel  queen  in  Macedon. 

But  being  stopped  at  strait  Thermopylae, 

Sea-passage  gets,  and  lands  in  Thessaly; 

His  army  he  divides,  sends  part  away 

Polysperchon  to  hold  a  while  in  play, 

And  with  the  rest  Olympias  pursues 

For  all  her  cruelty  to  give  her  dues. 

She  with  the  chief  of  court  to  Pydna  flies; 

Well  fortified  and  on  the  sea  it  lies; 

There  by  Cassander  she  's  blocked  up  so  long 

Until  the  famine  grows  exceeding  strong. 


1 96       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Her  cousin  of  Epirus  did  what  he  might 

To  raise  the  siege  and  put  her  foes  to  flight; 

Cassander  is  resolved  there  to  remain, 

So  succors  and  endeavors  prove  but  vain. 

Fain  would  this  wretched  queen  capitulate; 

Her  foe  would  give  no  ear,  such  is  his  hate. 

The  soldiers,  pinched  with  this  scarcity, 

By  stealth  unto  Cassander  daily  fly. 

Olympias  means  to  hold  out  to  the  last, 

Expecting  nothing  but  of  death  to  taste; 

But  his  occasions  calling  him  away, 

Gives  promise  for  her  life,  so  wins  the  day. 

No  sooner  had  he  got  her  in  his  hand 

But  he  made  in  judgment  her  accusers  stand 

And  plead  the  blood  of  friends  and  kindred  spilt, 

Desiring  justice  might  be  done  for  guilt; 

And  so  was  he  acquitted  of  his  word, 

For  justice'  sake  she  being  put  to  the  sword. 

This  was  the  end  of  this  most  cruel  queen, 

Whose  fury  scarcely  paralleled  hath  been  — 

The  daughter,  sister,  mother,  wife,  to  kings; 

But  royalty  no  good  conditions  brings. 

To  her  husband's  death, 't  is  thought,  she  gave  consent, 

The  murderer  she  did  so  much  lament, 

With  garlands  crowned  his  head,  bemoaned  his  fate, 

His  sword  did  to  Apollo  consecrate. 

Her  outrages  too  tedious  are  to  relate  — 

How  for  no  cause  but  her  inveterate  hate 


The  Four  Monarchies  197 

Her  husband's  wives  and  children  after  his  death 

Some  slew,  some  fried,  of  others  stopped  the  breath. 

Now  in  her  age  she  's  forced  to  taste  that  cup 

Which  she  had  others  often  made  to  sup. 

Now  many  towns  in  Macedon  suppressed, 

And  Pella  's  fain  to  yield  among  the  rest. 

The  funerals  Cassander  celebrates 

Of  Arrhidasus  and  his  queen  with  state; 

Among  their  ancestors  by  him  they  're  laid, 

And  shows  of  lamentation  for  them  made. 

Old  Thebes  he  then  rebuilt,  so  much  of  fame, 

And  Cassandria  raised  after  his  name. 

But  leave  him  building,  others  in  their  urn; 

Let  's  for  a  while  now  into  Asia  turn. 

True  Eumenes  endeavors  by  all  skill 

To  keep  Antigonus  from  Shushan  still; 

Having  command  of  the  treasure,  he  can  hire 

Such  as  no  threats  nor  favor  could  acquire. 

In  divers  battles  he  had  good  success; 

Antigonus  came  off  still  honorless. 

When  victor  oft  he  'd  been,  and  so  might  still, 

Peucestes  did  betray  him  by  a  wile 

To  Antigonus,  who  took  his  life  unjust 

Because  he  never  would  forego  his  trust. 

Thus  lost  he  all  for  his  fidelity, 

Striving  to  uphold  his  master's  family. 

But  to  a  period  as  that  did  haste, 

So  Eumenes,  the  prop,  of  death  must  taste. 

I3A 


198       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

All  Persia  now  Antigonus  doth  gain, 

And  master  of  the  treasure  sole  remain. 

Then  with  Seleucus  straight  at  odds  doth  fall, 

And  he  for  aid  to  Ptolemy  doth  call. 

The  princes  all  begin  now  to  envy 

Antigonus,  he  growing  up  so  high; 

Fearing  his  force  and  what  might  hap  ere  long, 

Enter  into  a  combination  strong: 

Seleucus,  Ptolemy,  Cassander,  join, 

Lysimachus  to  make  a  fourth  combines. 

Antigonus,  desirous  of  the  Greeks, 

To  make  Cassander  odious  to  them  seeks, 

Sends  forth  his  declarations  near  and  far, 

And  clears  what  cause  he  had  to  make  this  war; 

Cassander Js  outrages  at  large  doth  tell, 

Shows  his  ambitious  practices  as  well: 

The  mother  of  their  king  to  death  he  'd  put, 

His  wife  and  son  in  prison  close  had  shut; 

And  aiming  now  to  make  himself  a  king, 

And  that  some  title  he  might  seem  to  bring, 

Thessalonica  he  had  newly  wed, 

Daughter  to  Philip,  their  renowned  head; 

Had  built  and  called  a  city  by  his  name, 

Which  none  e'er  did  but  those  of  royal  fame; 

And  in  despite  of  their  two  famous  kings 

Hateful  Olynthians  to  Greece  rebrings; 

Rebellious  Thebes  he  had  reedified, 

Which  their  late  king  in  dust  had  damnified. 


The  Four  Monarchies  199 

Requires  them  therefore  to  take  up  their  arms 

And  to  requite  this  traitor  for  these  harms. 

Then  Ptolemy  would  gain  the  Greeks  likewise, 

And  he  declares  the  other's  injuries: 

First  how  he  held  the  empire  in  his  hands, 

Seleucus  driven  from  government  and  lands, 

The  valiant  Eumenes  unjustly  slain, 

And  lord  of  royal  Shushan  did  remain; 

Therefore  requests  their  help  to  take  him  down 

Before  he  wear  the  universal  crown. 

These  princes  at  the  sea  soon  had  a  fight, 

Where  great  Antigonus  was  put  to  flight. 

His  son  at  Gaza  likewise  lost  the  field, 

So  Syria  to  Ptolemy  did  yield. 

And  Seleucus  recovers  Babylon; 

Still  gaining  countries  eastward  he  goes  on. 

Demetrius  with  Ptolemy  did  fight, 

And,  coming  unawares,  put  him  to  flight; 

But  bravely  sends  the  prisoners  back  again, 

With  all  the  spoil  and  booty  he  had  ta'en  — 

Courteous  as  noble  Ptolemy,  or  more, 

Who  at  Gaza  did  the  like  to  him  before. 

Antigonus  did  much  rejoice  his  son 

With  viftory  his  lost  repute  had  won. 

At  last  these  princes,  tired  out  with  wars, 

Sought  for  a  peace,  and  laid  aside  their  jars. 

The  terms  of  their  agreement  thus  express, 

That  each  should  hold  what  now  he  did  possess 


200       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

Till  Alexander  unto  age  was  grown, 

Who  then  should  be  installed  in  the  throne. 

This  touched  Cassander  sore  for  what  he  'd  done, 

Imprisoning  both  the  mother  and  the  son. 

He  sees  the  Greeks  now  favor  their  young  prince 

Whom  he  in  durance  held  now  and  long  since; 

That  in  few  years  he  must  be  forced  or  glad 

To  render  up  such  kingdoms  as  he  had; 

Resolves  to  quit  his  fears  by  one  deed  done, 

So  puts  to  death  the  mother  and  her  son. 

This  Roxane  for  her  beauty  all  commend, 

But  for  one  act  she  did  just  was  her  end: 

No  sooner  was  great  Alexander  dead 

But  she  Darius'  daughters  murdered  — 

Both  thrown  into  a  well  to  hide  her  blot; 

Perdiccas  was  her  partner  in  this  plot. 

The  heavens  seemed  slow  in  paying  her  the  same, 

But  at  the  last  the  hand  of  vengeance  came, 

And  for  that  double  faft  which  she  had  done 

The  life  of  her  must  go  and  of  her  son. 

Perdiccas'  had  before  for  his  amiss, 

But  by  their  hands  who  thought  not  once  of  this. 

Cassander' s  deed  the  princes  do  detest, 

But  't  was  in  show;  in  heart  it  pleased  them  best. 

That  he  is  odious  to  the  world  they  're  glad, 

And  now  they  were  free  lords  of  what  they  had. 

When  this  foul  tragedy  was  past  and  done, 

Polysperchon  brings  up  the  other  son 


The  Four  Monarchies  201 

Called  Hercules,  and  elder  than  his  brother, 

But  Olympias  would  have  preferred  the  other. 

The  Greeks,  touched  with  the  murder  done  of  late, 

This  orphan  prince  began  to  compassionate, 

Begin  to  mutter  much  'gainst  proud  Cassander, 

And  place  their  hopes  on  the  heir  of  Alexander. 

Cassander  feared  what  might  of  this  ensue, 

So  Polysperchon  to  his  counsel  drew, 

And  gives  Peloponnesus  for  his  hire, 

Who  slew  the  prince  according  to  desire. 

Thus  was  the  race  and  house  of  Alexander 

Extinct  by  this  inhuman  wretch  Cassander. 

Antigonus  for  all  this  doth  not  mourn; 

He  knows  to  his  profit  this  at  last  will  turn. 

But  that  some  title  now  he  might  pretend 

To  Cleopatra  doth  for  marriage  send. 

Lysimachus  and  Ptolemy  the  same, 

And  lewd  Cassander,  too,  sticks  not  for  shame. 

She  then  in  Lydia  at  Sardis  lay, 

Where  by  embassage  all  these  princes  pray. 

Choice  above  all  of  Ptolemy  she  makes; 

With  his  ambassador  her  journey  takes. 

Antigonus'  lieutenant  stays  her  still 

Until  he  further  know  his  master's  will. 

Antigonus  now  had  a  wolf  by  the  ears: 

To  hold  her  still  or  let  her  go  he  fears; 

Resolves  at  last  the  princess  should  be  slain, 

So  hinders  him  of  her  he  could  not  gain. 


2O2       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Her  women  are  appointed  for  this  deed; 
They  for  their  great  reward  no  better  speed, 
For  by  command  they  straight  were  put  to  death 
As  vile  conspirators  that  stopped  her  breath. 
And  now  he  hopes  he  's  ordered  all  so  well 
The  world  must  needs  believe  what  he  doth  tell. 
Thus  Philip's  house  was  quite  extinguished, 
Except  Cassander's  wife,  who  's  yet  not  dead, 
And  by  their  means  who  thought  of  nothing  less 
Than  vengeance  just  against  them  to  express. 
Now  blood  was  paid  with  blood  for  what  was  done 
By  cruel  father,  mother,  cruel  son. 
Thus  may  we  hear,  and  fear,  and  ever  say, 
That  Hand  is  righteous  still  which  doth  repay. 
These  captains  now  the  style  of  kings  do  take, 
For  to  their  crowns  there  's  none  can  title  make. 
Demetrius  first  the  royal  style  assumed, 
By  his  example  all  the  rest  presumed. 
Antigonus,  himself  to  ingratiate, 
Doth  promise  liberty  to  Athens'  state; 
With  arms  and  with  provision  stores  them  well, 
The  better  'gainst  Cassander  to  rebel. 
Demetrius  thither  goes,  is  entertained 
Not  like  a  king,  but  like  some  god  they  feigned; 
Most  grossly  base  was  their  great  adulation, 
Who  incense  burnt,  and  offered  oblation. 
These  kings  afresh  fall  to  their  wars  again. 
Demetrius  of  Ptolemy  doth  gain. 


The  Four  Monarchies  203 

'T  would  be  an  endless  story  to  relate 

Their  several  battles  and  their  several  fate, 

Their  fights  by  sea,  their  victories  by  land, 

How  some  when  down  straight  got  the  upper  hand. 

Antigonus  and  Seleucus  then  fight 

Near  Ephesus,  each  bringing  all  his  might, 

And  he  that  conqueror  shall  now  remain 

The  lordship  of  all  Asia  shall  retain. 

This  day  'twixt  these  two  kings  ends  all  the  strife 

For  here  Antigonus  lost  rule  and  life, 

Nor  to  his  son  did  e'er  one  foot  remain 

Of  those  vast  kingdoms  he  did  sometime  gain. 

Demetrius  with  his  troops  to  Athens  flies, 

Hopes  to  find  succor  in  his  miseries; 

But  they,  adoring  in  prosperity, 

Now  shut  their  gates  in  his  adversity. 

He,  sorely  grieved  at  this  his  desperate  state, 

Tries  foes,  sith  friends  will  not  compassionate. 

His  peace  he  then  with  old  Seleucus  makes, 

Who  his  fair  daughter  Stratonice  takes. 

Antiochus,  Seleucus'  dear  loved  son, 

Is  for  this  fresh  young  lady  quite  undone; 

Falls  so  extremely  sick  all  feared  his  life, 

Yet  durst  not  say  he  loved  his  father's  wife. 

When  his  disease  the  skilled  physician  found, 

His  father's  mind  he  wittily  did  sound, 

Who  did  no  sooner  understand  the  same 

But  willingly  resigned  the  beauteous  dame. 


204       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Cassander  now  must  die,  his  race  is  run, 
And  leave  the  ill  got  kingdoms  he  had  won. 
Two  sons  he  left,  born  of  King  Philip's  daughter, 
Who  had  an  end  put  to  their  days  by  slaughter. 
Which  should  succeed  at  variance  they  fell; 
The  mother  would  the  youngest  might  excel; 
The  eldest,  enraged,  did  play  the  viper's  part, 
And  with  his  sword  did  run  her  through  the  heart. 
Rather  than  Philip's  race  should  longer  live, 
He  whom  she  gave  his  life  her  death  shall  give. 
This  by  Lysimachus  was  after  slain, 
Whose  daughter  he  not  long  before  had  ta'en. 
Demetrius  is  called  in  by  the  youngest  son 
Against  Lysimachus,  who  from  him  won; 
But  he  a  kingdom  more  than  his  friend  did  eye, 
Seized  upon  that,  and  slew  him  traitorously. 
Thus  Philip's  and  Cassander' s  race  both  gone, 
And  so  falls  out  to  be  extinct  in  one. 
And  though  Cassander  died  in  his  bed, 
His  seed  to  be  extirpt  was  destined; 
For  blood  which  was  decreed  that  he  should  spill 
Yet  must  his  children  pay  for  father's  ill. 
Jehu  in  killing  Ahab's  house  did  well; 
Yet  be  avenged  must  blood  of  Jezebel. 
Demetrius  thus  Cassander' s  kingdoms  gains, 
And  now  in  Macedon  as  king  he  reigns. 
Though  men  and  money  both  he  hath  at  will, 
In  neither  finds  content  if  he  sits  still. 


The  Four  Monarchies  205 

That  Seleucus  holds  Asia  grieves  him  sore; 

Those  countries  large  his  father  got  before. 

These  to  recover  musters  all  his  might, 

And  with  his  son-in-law  will  needs  go  fight; 

A  mighty  navy  rigged,  an  army  stout, 

With  these  he  hopes  to  turn  the  world  about, 

Leaving  Antigonus,  his  eldest  son, 

In  his  long  absence  to  rule  Macedon. 

Demetrius  with  so  many  troubles  met 

As  heaven  and  earth  against  him  had  been  set; 

Disaster  on  disaster  him  pursue, 

His  story  seems  a  fable  more  than  true. 

At  last  he  's  taken  and  imprisoned 

Within  an  isle  that  was  with  pleasures  fed; 

Enjoyed  whatever  beseemed  his  royalty, 

Only  restrained  of  his  liberty. 

After  three  years  he  died,  left  what  he  'd  won 

In  Greece  unto  Antigonus  his  son; 

For  his  posterity  unto  this  day 

Did  ne'er  regain  one  foot  in  Asia. 

His  body  Seleucus  sends  to  his  son, 

Whose  obsequies  with  wondrous  pomp  were  done. 

Next  died  the  brave  and  noble  Ptolemy, 

Renowned  for  bounty,  valor,  clemency; 

Rich  Egypt  left,  and  what  else  he  had  won, 

To  Philadelphus,  his  more  worthy  son. 

Of  the  old  heroes  now  but  two  remain. 

Seleucus  and  Lysimachus,  these  twain, 


206        Tbe  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Must  needs  go  try  their  fortune  and  their  might, 

And  so  Lysimachus  was  slain  in  fight. 

'T  was  no  small  joy  unto  Seleucus'  breast 

That  now  he  had  outlived  all  the  rest; 

Possession  of  Europe  he  thinks  to  take, 

And  so  himself  the  only  monarch  make. 

While  with  these  hopes  in  Greece  he  did  remain 

He  was  by  Ptolemy  Ceraunus  slain, 

The  second  son  of  the  first  Ptolemy, 

Who  for  rebellion  unto  him  did  fly. 

Seleucus  was  a  father  and  a  friend, 

Yet  by  him  had  this  most  unworthy  end. 

Thus  with  these  kingly  captains  have  we  done. 

A  little  now  how  the  succession  run: 

Antigonus,  Seleucus,  and  Cassander, 

With  Ptolemy,  reigned  after  Alexander; 

Cassander' s  sons  soon  after  his  death  were  slain, 

So  three  successors  only  did  remain; 

Antigonus  his  kingdoms  lost  and  life 

Unto  Seleucus,  author  of  that  strife; 

His  son  Demetrius  all  Cassander' s  gains, 

And  his  posterity  the  same  retains; 

Demetrius'  son  was  called  Antigonus, 

And  his  again  was  named  Demetrius. 

I  must  let  pass  those  many  battles  fought 

Betwixt  those  kings  and  noble  Pyrrhus  stout 

And  his  son  Alexander  of  Epire, 

Whereby  immortal  honor  they  acquire. 


The  Four  Monarchies  207 

Demetrius  had  Philip  to  his  son, 

Part  of  whose  kingdoms  Titus  Quintius  won; 

Philip  had  Perseus,  who  was  made  a  thrall 

To  ^Emilius,  the  Roman  general  — 

Him  with  his  sons  in  triumph  lead  did  he, 

Such  riches,  too,  as  Rome  did  never  see. 

This  of  Antigonus  his  seed  's  the  fate, 

Whose  empire  was  subdued  to  the  Roman  state. 

Longer  Seleucus  held  the  royalty 

In  Syria  by  his  posterity. 

Antiochus  Soter  his  son  was  named, 

To  whom  the  old  Berosus,  so  much  famed, 

His  book  of  Assures  monarchs  dedicates, 

Tells  of  their  names,  their  wars,  their  riches,  fates; 

But  this  is  perished  with  many  more, 

Which  oft  we  wish  was  extant  as  before. 

Antiochus  Theos  was  Soter' s  son, 

Who  a  long  war  with  Egypt's  king  begun; 

The  affinities  and  wars  Daniel  sets  forth, 

And  calls  them  there  the  kings  of  south  and  north. 

This  Theos  murdered  was  by  his  lewd  wife. 

Seleucus  reigned  when  he  had  lost  his  life. 

A  third  Seleucus  next  sits  on  the  seat, 

And  then  Antiochus  surnamed  the  Great, 

Whose  large  dominions  after  were  made  small 

By  Scipio,  the  Roman  general. 

Fourth  Seleucus  Antiochus  succeeds, 

And  next  Epiphanes,  whose  wicked  deeds, 


zo  8       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Horrid  massacres,  murders,  cruelties, 

Amongst  the  Jews  we  read  in  Maccabees. 

Antiochus  Eupator  was  the  next, 

By  rebels  and  impostors  daily  vexed; 

So  many  princes  still  were  murdered 

The  royal  blood  was  nigh  extinguished. 

Then  Tigranes,  the  great  Armenian  king, 

To  take  the  government  was  called  in; 

Lucullus  him  —  the  Roman  general  — 

Vanquished  in  fight,  and  took  those  kingdoms  all. 

Of  Greece  and  Syria  thus  the  rule  did  end. 

In  Egypt  next  a  little  time  we  '11  spend. 

First,  Ptolemy  being  dead,  his  famous  son 

Called  Philadelphus  did  possess  the  throne, 

At  Alexandria  a  library  did  build, 

And  with  seven  hundred  thousand  volumes  filled. 

The  seventy-two  interpreters  did  seek 

They  might  translate  the  Bible  into  Greek. 

His  son  was  Evergetes,  the  last  prince 

That  valor  showed,  virtue,  or  excellence. 

Philopator  was  Evergetes'  son. 

After,  Epiphanes  sat  on  the  throne, 

Philometor,  Evergetes  again, 

And  after  him  did  false  Lathy rus  reign; 

Then  Alexander  in  Lathyrus'  stead; 

Next,  Auletes,  who  cut  off  Pompey's  head. 

To  all  these  names  we  Ptolemy  must  add, 

For  since  the  first  they  still  that  title  had. 


The  Four  Monarchies          V^        209 

Fair  Cleopatra  next,  last  of  that  race, 

Whom  Julius  Cassar  set  in  royal  place, 

She,  with  her  paramour,  Marc  Antony, 

Held  for  a  time  the  Egyptian  monarchy, 

Till  great  Augustus  had  with  him  a  fight 

At  Aftium,  where  his  navy  was  put  to  flight; 

He,  seeing  his  honor  lost,  his  kingdom  end, 

Did  by  his  sword  his  life  soon  after  send. 

His  brave  virago  asps  sets  to  her  arms 

To  take  her  life  and  quit  her  from  all  harms; 

For  *t  was  not  death  nor  danger  she  did  dread, 

But  some  disgrace  in  triumph  to  be  led. 

Here  ends  at  last  the  Grecian  monarchy, 

Which  by  the  Romans  had  its  destiny. 

Thus  kings  and  kingdoms  have  their  times  and  dates, 

Their  standings,  over  turnings,  bounds,  and  fates; 

Now  up,  now  down,  now  chief,  and  then  brought 

under. 
The  heavens  thus  rule  to  fill  the  world  with 

wonder. 

The  Assyrian  monarchy  long  time  did  stand, 
But  yet  the  Persian  got  the  upper  hand; 
The  Grecian  them  did  utterly  subdue, 
And  millions  were  subjected  unto  few. 
The  Grecian  longer  than  the  Persian  stood, 
Then  came  the  Roman  like  a  raging  flood, 
And  with  the  torrent  of  his  rapid  course 
Their  crowns,  their  titles,  riches,  bears  by  force. 
H 


2 1  o       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

The  first  was  likened  to  a  head  of  gold; 
Next,  arms  and  breast  of  silver  to  behold; 
The  third,  belly  and  thighs  of  brass  in  sight; 
And  last  was  iron,  which  breaketh  all  with  might. 
The  stone  out  of  the  mountain  then  did  rise 
And  smote  those  feet,  those  legs,  those  arms,  and 

thighs, 

Then  gold,  silver,  brass,  iron,  and  all  the  store 
Became  like  chaff  upon  the  threshing  floor. 
The  first  a  lion,  second  was  a  bear, 
The  third  a  leopard  which  four  wings  did  rear; 
The  last  more  strong  and  dreadful  than  the  rest, 
Whose  iron  teeth  devoured  every  beast, 
And  when  he  had  no  appetite  to  eat 
The  residue  he  stamped  under  his  feet. 
Yet  shall  this  lion,  bear,  this  leopard,  ram, 
All  trembling  stand  before  the  powerful  Lamb. 
With  these  three  monarchies  now  have  I  done. 
But  how  the  fourth  their  kingdoms  from  them  won, 
And  how  from  small  beginnings  it  did  grow 
To  fill  the  world  with  terror  and  with  woe, 
My  tired  brain  leaves  to  some  better  pen. 
This  task  befits  not  women  like  to  men. 
For  what  is  past  I  blush  excuse  to  make, 
But  humbly  stand  some  grave  reproof  to  take. 
Pardon  to  crave  for  errors  is  but  vain; 
The  subjeft  was  too  high  beyond  my  strain. 


The  Four  Monarchies  2 1 1 

To  frame  apology  for  some  offense 
Converts  our  boldness  into  impudence. 
This  my  presumption  some  now  to  requite, 
Ne  sutor  ultra  crepidam  may  write. 

The  End  of  the  Grecian  Monarchy. 


After  some  days  of  rest  my  restless  heart 

To  finish  what  ys  begun  new  thoughts  impart, 

And  maugre  all  resolves  my  fancy  wrought 

This  fourth  to  the  other  three  now  might  be  brought. 

Shortness  of  time  and  inability 

Will  force  me  to  a  confused  brevity; 

Yet  in  this  chaos  one  shall  easily  spy 

The  vast  limbs  of  a  mighty  monarchy. 

Whate*  er  is  found  amiss  take  in  good  part 

As  faults  proceeding  from  my  head,  not  heart. 


2 1 2        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

THE  ROMAN  MONARCHY,  BEING  THE 
FOURTH  AND  LAST,  BEGINNING  ANNO 
MUNDI  3213. 

Stout  Romulus,  Rome's  founder  and  first  king, 

Whom  vestal  Rhea  to  the  world  did  bring, 

His  father  was  not  Mars,  as  some  devised, 

But  Amulius  in  armor  all  disguised. 

Thus  he  deceived  his  niece  she  might  not  know 

The  double  injury  he  then  did  do. 

Where  shepherds  once  had  coats  and  sheep  their  folds, 

Where  swains  and  rustic  peasants  kept  their  holds, 

A  city  fair  did  Romulus  eredl:, 

The  mistress  of  the  world  in  each  respect. 

His  brother  Remus  there  by  him  was  slain 

For  leaping  o'er  the  wall  with  some  disdain. 

The  stones  at  first  were  cemented  with  blood, 

And  bloody  hath  it  proved  since  first  it  stood. 

This  city  built,  and  sacrifices  done, 

A  form  of  government  he  next  begun; 

A  hundred  senators  he  likewise  chose, 

And  with  the  style  of  Patres  honored  those. 

His  city  to  replenish  men  he  wants; 

Great  privileges  then  to  all  he  grants 

That  will  within  those  strong  built  walls  reside, 

And  this  new  gentle  government  abide. 

Of  wives  there  was  so  great  a  scarcity 

They  to  their  neighbors  sue  for  a  supply. 


The  Four  Monarchies  213 

But  all  disdain  alliance  then  to  make, 
So  Romulus  was  forced  this  course  to  take: 
Great  shows  he  makes  at  tilt  and  tournament; 
To  see  these  sports  the  Sabines  all  are  bent; 
Their  daughters  by  the  Romans  then  were  caught. 
Then  to  recover  them  a  field  was  fought; 
But  in  the  end  to  final  peace  they  come, 
And  Sabines  as  one  people  dwelt  in  Rome. 
The  Romans  now  more  potent  begin  to  grow, 
And  Fidenates  they  wholly  overthrow. 
But  Romulus  then  comes  unto  his  end, 
Some  feigning  to  the  gods  he  did  ascend; 
Others  the  seven  and  thirtieth  of  his  reign 
Affirm  that  by  the  Senate  he  was  slain. 

NUMA   POMPILIUS. 
Numa  Pompilius  next  chose  they  king, 
Held  for  his  piety  some  sacred  thing. 
To  Janus  he  that  famous  temple  built 
Kept  shut  in  peace,  set  ope  when  blood  was  spilt; 
Religious  rites  and  customs  instituted, 
And  priests  and  flamens  likewise  he  deputed, 
Their  augurs  strange,  their  gestures  and  attire, 
And  vestal  maids  to  keep  the  holy  fire. 
The  nymph  ^Egeria  this  to  him  told, 
So  to  delude  the  people  he  was  bold. 
Forty-three  years  he  ruled  with  generous  praise, 
Accounted  for  a  god  in  after  days. 

I4A 


2 1 4       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

TULLUS  HOSTILIUS. 
Tullus  Hostilius  was  third  Roman  king, 
Who  martial  discipline  in  use  did  bring. 
War  with  the  ancient  Albans  he  did  wage. 
This  strife  to  end  six  brothers  did  engage, 
Three  called  Horatii  on  the  Romans*  side, 
And  Curiatii  three  Albans  provide. 
The  Romans  conquer,  the  others  yield  the  day, 
Yet  in  their  compaft  after  false  they  play. 
The  Romans,  sore  incensed,  their  general  slay, 
And  from  old  Alba  fetch  the  wealth  away. 
Of  Latin  kings  this  was  long  since  the  seat, 
But  now  demolished  to  make  Rome  great. 
Thirty-two  years  did  Tullus  reign,  then  die, 
Left  Rome  in  wealth  and  power  still  growing  high, 

ANGUS    MARCIUS. 
Next  Ancus  Marcius  sits  upon  the  throne, 
Nephew  unto  Pompilius  dead  and  gone. 
Rome  he  enlarged,  new  built  again  the  wall 
Much  stronger,  and  more  beautiful  withal. 
A  stately  bridge  he  over  Tiber  made, 
Of  boats  and  oars  no  more  they  need  the  aid. 
Fair  Ostia  he  built;  this  town  it  stood 
Close  by  the  mouth  of  famous  Tiber  flood. 
Twenty-four  years  time  of  his  royal  race, 
Then  unto  death  unwillingly  gives  place. 


The  Four  Monarchies  215 

TARQUINIUS    PRISCUS. 

Tarquin,  a  Greek  at  Corinth  born  and  bred, 
Who  from  his  country  for  sedition  fled, 
Is  entertained  at  Rome,  and  in  short  time 
By  wealth  and  favor  doth  to  honor  climb. 
He  after  Marcius'  death  the  kingdom  had. 
A  hundred  senators  he  more  did  add. 
Wars  with  the  Latins  he  again  renews, 
And  nations  twelve  of  Tuscany  subdues. 
To  such  rude  triumphs  as  young  Rome  then  had 
Some  state  and  splendor  did  this  Priscus  add. 
Thirty-eight  years  this  stranger  born  did  reign, 
And  after  all  by  Ancus*  sons  was  slain. 

SERVIUS    TULLIUS. 
Next  Servius  Tullius  gets  into  the  throne; 
Ascends  not  up  by  merits  of  his  own, 
But  by  the  favor  and  the  special  grace 
Of  Tanaquil,  late  queen,  obtains  the  place. 
He  ranks  the  people  into  each  degree 
As  wealth  had  made  them  of  ability; 
A  general  muster  takes,  which  by  account 
To  eighty  thousand  souls  then  did  amount. 
Forty-four  years  did  Servius  Tullius  reign, 
And  then  by  Tarquin  Priscus'  son  was  slain. 


2 1 6       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

TARQUINIUS   SUPERS  US,  THE    LAST 

KING    OF   THE   ROMANS. 
Tarquin  the  proud,  from  manners  called  so, 
Sat  on  the  throne  when  he  had  slain  his  foe. 
Sextus,  his  son,  did  most  unworthily 
Lucretia  force,  mirror  of  chastity; 
She  loathed  so  the  faft,  she  loathed  her  life, 
And  shed  her  guiltless  blood  with  guilty  knife. 
Her  husband,  sore  incensed  to  quit  this  wrong, 
With  Junius  Brutus  rose,  and  being  strong 
The  Tarquins  they  from  Rome  by  force  expel, 
In  banishment  perpetual  to  dwell; 
The  government  they  change,  a  new  one  bring, 
And  people  swear  ne'er  to  accept  of  king. 


The  Four  Monarchies  217 


An  Apology. 

To  finish  what 's  begun  was  my  intent, 
My  thoughts  and  my  endeavors  thereto  bent; 
Essays  I  many  made,  but  still  gave  out, 
The  more  I  mused,  the  more  I  was  in  doubt  — 
The  subjeft  large,  my  mind  and  body  weak, 
With  many  more  discouragements  did  speak. 
All  thoughts  of  further  progress  laid  aside, 
Though  oft  persuaded,  I  as  oft  denied. 
At  length  resolved,  when  many  years  had  passed, 
To  prosecute  my  story  to  the  last; 
And  for  the  same  I  hours  not  few  did  spend, 
And  weary  lines,  though  lank,  I  many  penned. 
But  Jfore  I  could  accomplish  my  desire 
My  papers  fell  a  prey  to  the  raging  f  re, 
And  thus  my  pains,  with  better  things,  I  lost, 
Which  none  had  cause  to  wail,  nor  I  to  boast. 
No  more  I* II  do,  since  I  have  suffered  wreck, 
Although  my  Monarchies  their  legs  do  lack, 
Nor  matter  is  it  this  last,  the  world  now  sees, 
Hath  many  ages  been  upon  his  knees. 


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-«"»«»- B^^SsiBl^i^tefSMSSI**^8^?^3^ 

"**,'.  •> :  fifs*"    a  a  E  ®  5  a  as 

SIS 


iii-.vXv^^ 


A  DIALOGUE  BETWEEN  OLD  ENGLAND 
AND  NEW  CONCERNING  THEIR  PRES 
ENT  TROUBLES,  ANNO  1642. 

NEW-ENGLAND. 

Alas,  dear  mother,  fairest  queen  and  best, 
With  honor,  wealth,  and  peace  happy  and  blest, 
What  ails  thee  hang  thy  head,  and  cross  thine  arms, 
And  sit  in  the  dust  to  sigh  these  sad  alarms  ? 
What  deluge  of  new  woes  thus  overwhelms 
The  glories  of  thy  ever  famous  realm  ? 
What  means  this  wailing  tone,  this  mournful  guise  ? 
Ah,  tell  thy  daughter,  she  may  sympathize. 

OLD    ENGLAND. 

Art  ignorant  indeed  of  these  my  woes, 
Or  must  my  forced  tongue  these  griefs  disclose, 
And  must  myself  dissect  my  tattered  state, 
Which  amazed  Christendom  stands  wondering  at  ? 
And  thou  a  child,  a  limb,  and  dost  not  feel 
My  fainting,  weakened  body  now  to  reel  ? 
218 


REV.  JOHN  COTTON. 

The  most  influential  of  the   early   colonial    divines. 

The  Boston  of  the  New  World  was  named 

in  memory  of  his  English  home. 

From  an  engraving. 


A  Dialogue  between  Old  England  and  New    2  1 9 

This  physic  purging  potion  I  have  taken 
Will  bring  consumption  or  an  ague-quaking 
Unless  some  cordial  thou  fetch  from  high, 
Which  present  help  may  ease  my  malady. 
If  I  decease,  dost  think  thou  shalt  survive  ? 
Or  by  my  wasting  state  dost  think  to  thrive  ? 
Then  weigh  our  case  if  it  be  not  justly  sad. 
Let  me  lament  alone,  while  thou  art  glad. 

NEW-ENGLAND. 

And  thus,  alas,  your  state  you  much  deplore 
In  general  terms,  but  will  not  say  wherefore. 
What  medicine  shall  I  seek  to  cure  this  woe 
If  the  wound  so  dangerous  I  may  not  know. 
But  you,  perhaps,  would  have  me  guess  it  out. 
What,  hath  some  Hengist  like  that  Saxon  stout 
By  fraud  or  force  usurped  thy  flowering  crown, 
Or  by  tempestuous  wars  thy  fields  trod  down  ? 
Or  hath  Canutus,  that  brave  valiant  Dane, 
The  regal  peaceful  scepter  from  thee  ta'en  ? 
Or  is  it  a  Norman  whose  victorious  hand 
With  English  blood  bedews  thy  conquered  land  ? 
Or  is  it  intestine  wars  that  thus  offend  ? 
Do  Maud  and  Stephen  for  the  crown  contend  ? 
Do  barons  rise  and  side  against  their  king, 
And  call  in  foreign  aid  to  help  the  thing  ? 
Must  Edward  be  deposed  ?     Or,  is  it  the  hour 
That  second  Richard  must  be  clapped  in  the  tower  ? 


2  zo       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Or  is  it  the  fatal  jar,  again  begun, 
That  from  the  red-white  pricking  roses  sprung  ? 
Must  Richmond's  aid  the  nobles  now  implore 
To  come  and  break  the  tushes  of  the  boar  ? 
If  none  of  these,  dear  mother,  what  's  your  woe? 
Pray,  do  you  fear  Spain's  bragging  Armado  ? 
Doth  your  ally,  fair  France,  conspire  your  wreck, 
Or  do  the  Scots  play  false  behind  your  back  ? 
Doth  Holland  quit  you  ill  for  all  your  love  ? 
Whence  is  the  storm,  from  earth  or  heaven  above  ? 
Is  it  drought,  is  it  famine,  or  is  it  pestilence  ? 
Dost  feel  the  smart,  or  fear  the  consequence  ? 
Your  humble  child  entreats  you  show  your  grief. 
Though  arms  nor  purse  she  hath  for  your  relief, — 
Such  is  her  poverty, —  yet  shall  be  found 
A  suppliant  for  your  help,  as  she  is  bound. 

OLD    ENGLAND. 

I  must  confess  some  of  those  sores  you  name 
My  beauteous  body  at  this  present  maim; 
But  foreign  foe  nor  feigned  friend  I  fear, 
For  they  have  work  enough,  thou  knowest,  elsewhere. 
Nor  is  it  Aide's  son  nor  Henry's  daughter 
Whose  proud  contentions  cause  this  slaughter; 
Nor  nobles  siding  to  make  John  no  king, 
French  Louis  unjustly  to  the  crown  to  bring; 
No  Edward,  Richard,  to  lose  rule  and  life, 
Nor  no  Lancastrians  to  renew  old  strife; 


A  Dialogue  between  Old  England  and  New    221 

No  Duke  of  York  nor  Earl  of  March  to  soil 

Their  hands  in  kindred's  blood  whom  they  did  foil. 

No  crafty  tyrant  now  usurps  the  seat 

Who  nephews  slew  that  so  he  might  be  great. 

No  need  of  Tudor  roses  to  unite; 

None  knows  which  is  the  red  or  which  the  white. 

Spain's  braving  fleet  a  second  time  is  sunk. 

France  knows  how  oft  my  fury  she  hath  drunk 

By  Edward  Third  and  Henry  Fifth  of  fame; 

Her  lilies  in  my  arms  avouch  the  same. 

My  sister  Scotland  hurts  me  now  no  more, 

Though  she  hath  been  injurious  heretofore. 

What  Holland  is  I  am  in  some  suspense, 

But  trust  not  much  unto  his  excellence. 

For  wants,  sure  some  I  feel,  but  more  I  fear; 

And  for  the  pestilence,  who  knows  how  near  ? 

Famine  and  plague,  two  sisters  of  the  sword, 

Destruction  to  a  land  doth  soon  afford. 

They  Jre  for  my  punishment  ordained  on  high, 

Unless  our  tears  prevent  it  speedily. 

But  yet  I  answer  not  what  you  demand 

To  show  the  grievance  of  my  troubled  land. 

Before  I  tell  the  effecl:  I  Jll  show  the  cause, 

Which  is  my  sins  —  the  breach  of  sacred  laws: 

Idolatry,  supplanter  of  a  nation, 

With  foolish  superstitious  adoration, 

Are  liked  and  countenanced  by  men  of  might; 

The  gospel  trodden  down  and  hath  no  right; 


222        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Church  offices  were  sold  and  bought  for  gain, 
That  Pope  had  hope  to  find  Rome  here  again; 
For  oaths  and  blasphemies  did  ever  ear 
From  Beelzebub  himself  such  language  hear  ? 
What  scorning  of  the  saints  of  the  most  high! 
What  injuries  did  daily  on  them  lie  ! 
What  false  reports,  what  nicknames  did  they 

take, 

Not  for  their  own,  but  for  their  Master's  sake  ! 
And  thou,  poor  soul,  wert  jeered  among  the  rest; 
Thy  flying  for  the  truth  was  made  a  jest. 
For  Sabbath-breaking  and  for  drunkenness 
Did  ever  land  profaneness  more  express  ? 
From  crying  blood  yet  cleansed  am  not  I, 
Martyrs  and  others  dying  causelessly. 
How  many  princely  heads  on  blocks  laid  down 
For  naught  but  title  to  a  fading  crown! 
'Mongst  all  the  cruelties  by  great  ones  done, 
O  Edward's  youths,  and  Clarence'  hapless  son, 
O  Jane,  why  didst  thou  die  in  flowering  prime  ?  — 
Because  of  royal  stem,  that  was  thy  crime. 
For  bribery,  adultery,  and  lies 
Where  is  the  nation  I  can't  paralyze  ? 
With  usury,  extortion,  and  oppression, 
These  be  the  hydras  of  my  stout  transgression; 
These  be  the  bitter  fountains,  heads,  and  roots 
Whence  flowed  the  source,  the  sprigs,  the  boughs,  and 

fruits. 


A  Dialogue  between  Old  England  and  New    223 

Of  more  than  thou  canst  hear  or  I  relate, 

That  with  high  hand  I  still  did  perpetrate. 

For  these  were  threatened  the  woeful  day. 

I  mocked  the  preachers,  put  it  far  away; 

The  sermons  yet  upon  record  do  stand 

That  cried  destruction  to  my  wicked  land. 

I  then  believed  not,  now  I  feel  and  see 

The  plague  of  stubborn  incredulity. 

Some  lost  their  livings,  some  in  prison  pent, 

Some,  fined,  from  house  and  friends  to  exile  went. 

Their  silent  tongues  to  heaven  did  vengeance  cry, 

Who  saw  their  wrongs,  and  hath  judged  righteously, 

And  will  repay  it  sevenfold  in  my  lap. 

This  is  forerunner  of  my  afterclap. 

Nor  took  I  warning  by  my  neighbors'  falls: 

I  saw  sad  Germany's  dismantled  walls, 

I  saw  her  people  famished,  nobles  slain, 

Her  fruitful  land  a  barren  heath  remain; 

I  saw,  unmoved,  her  armies  foiled  and  fled, 

Wives  forced,  babes  tossed,  her  houses  calcined. 

I  saw  strong  Rochelle  yielded  to  her  foe, 

Thousands  of  starved  Christians  there  also. 

I  saw  poor  Ireland  bleeding  out  her  last, 

Such  cruelties  as  all  reports  have  passed; 

Mine  heart  obdurate  stood  not  yet  aghast. 

Now  sip  I  of  that  cup,  and  just  it  may  be 

The  bottom  dregs  reserved  are  for  me. 


224       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

NEW-ENGLAND. 

To  all  you  've  said,  sad  mother,  I  assent. 
Your  fearful  sins  great  cause  there  is  to  lament. 
My  guilty  hands  in  part  hold  up  with  you, 
A  sharer  in  your  punishment  's  my  due. 
But  all  you  say  amounts  to  this  effeft, 
Not  what  you  feel,  but  what  you  do  expedl. 
Pray,  in  plain  terms,  what  is  your  present  grief? 
Then  let  's  join  heads  and  hearts  for  your  relief. 

OLD  ENGLAND. 

Well,  to  the  matter,  then.      There  Js  grown  of  late 

'Twixt  king  and  peers  a  question  of  state: 

Which  is  the  chief —  the  law,  or  else  the  king  ? 

One  said,  it 's  he;  the  other,  no  such  thing. 

JT  is  said  my  better  part  in  Parliament 

To  ease  my  groaning  land  showed  their  intent, 

To  crush  the  proud,  and  right  to  each  man  deal, 

To  help  the  church,  and  stay  the  commonweal. 

So  many  obstacles  came  in  their  way 

As  puts  me  to  a  stand  what  I  should  say. 

Old  customs  new  prerogatives  stood  on; 

Had  they  not  held  law  fast,  all  had  been  gone, 

Which  by  their  prudence  stood  them  in  such  stead 

They  took  high  Strafford  lower  by  the  head, 

And  to  their  Laud  be  it  spoke  they  held  in  the  tower 

All  England* s  metropolitan  that  hour. 


JOHN  WINTHROP. 

The  First  Governor  of  the  Massachusetts  Bay  Colony. 
From  the  original  painting  in  the  State  House,  Boston,  Mass. 


A  Dialogue  between  Old  England  and  New    225 

This  done,  an  aft  they  would  have  passed  fain 
No  prelate  should  his  bishopric  retain; 
Here  tugged  they  hard  indeed,  for  all  men  saw 
This  must  be  done  by  gospel,  not  by  law. 
Next  the  militia  they  urged  sore; 
This  was  denied,  I  need  not  say  wherefore. 
The  king,  displeased,  at  York  himself  absents. 
They  humbly  beg  his  return,  show  their  intents; 
The  writing,  printing,  posting  to  and  fro, 
Show  all  was  done;  I  '11  therefore  let  it  go. 
But  now  I  come  to  speak  of  my  disaster. 
Contention  grown  'twixt  subjects  and  their  master, 
They  worded  it  so  long  they  fell  to  blows, 
That  thousands  lay  on  heaps.     Here  bleed  my  woes. 
I  that  no  wars  so  many  years  have  known 
Am  now  destroyed  and  slaughtered  by  my  own. 
But  could  the  field  alone  this  strife  decide, 
One  battle,  two,  or  three  I  might  abide. 
But  these  may  be  beginnings  of  more  woe  — 
Who  knows  but  this  may  be  my  overthrow! 
Oh,  pity  me  in  this  sad  perturbation, 
My  plundered  towns,  my  houses'  devastation, 
My  weeping  virgins,  and  my  young  men  slain, 
My  wealthy  trading  fallen,  my  dearth  of  grain. 
The  seed-times  come,  but  plowman  hath  no  hope 
Because  he  knows  not  who  shall  in  his  crop. 
The  poor  they  want  their  pay,  their  children  bread, 
Their  woeful  mothers'  tears  unpitied. 
15 


226        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

If  any  pity  in  thy  heart  remain, 
Or  any  child-like  love  thou  dost  retain, 
For  my  relief  do  what  there  lies  in  thee, 
And  recompense  that  good  I  've  done  to  thee. 

NEW   ENGLAND. 

Dear  mother,  cease  complaints,  and  wipe  your  eyes, 
Shake  off  your  dust,  cheer  up,  and  now  arise. 
You  are  my  mother  nurse,  and  I,  your  flesh, 
Your  sunken  bowels  gladly  would  refresh. 
Your  griefs  I  pity,  but  soon  hope  to  see 
Out  of  your  troubles  much  good  fruit  to  be; 
To  see  those  latter  days  of  hoped-for  good, 
Though  now  beclouded  all  with  tears  and  blood. 
After  dark  popery  the  day  did  clear; 
But  now  the  sun  in  his  brightness  shall  appear. 
Blest  be  the  nobles  of  thy  noble  land 
With  ventured  lives  for  truth's  defense  that  stand. 
Blest  be  thy  Commons,  who  for  common  good 
And  thy  infringed  laws  have  boldly  stood. 
Blest  be  thy  counties,  who  did  aid  thee  still 
With  hearts  and  states  to  testify  their  will. 
Blest  be  thy  preachers,  who  do  cheer  thee  on; 
Oh,  cry  the  sword  of  God  and  Gideon ! 
And  shall  I  not  on  them  wish  Meroz'  curse 
That  help  thee  not  with  prayers,  with  alms,  and  purse? 
And  for  myself  let  miseries  abound 
If  mindless  of  thy  state  I  e'er  be  found. 


A  Dialogue  between  Old  England  and  New    227 

These  are  the  days  the  church's  foes  to  crush, 

To  root  out  popeling's  head,  tail,  branch,  and  rush. 

Let's  bring  Baal's  vestments  forth  to  make  a  fire, 

Their  miters,  surplices,  and  all  their  attire, 

Copes,  rochets,  croziers,  and  such  empty  trash, 

And  let  their  names  consume,  but  let  the  flash 

Light  Christendom,  and  all  the  world  to  see 

We  hate  Rome's  whore,  with  all  her  trumpery. 

Go  on,  brave  Essex,  with  a  loyal  heart, 

Not  false  to  king,  nor  to  the  better  part; 

But  those  that  hurt  his  people  and  his  crown, 

As  duty  binds  expel  and  tread  them  down. 

And  ye  brave  nobles,  chase  away  all  fear, 

And  to  this  hopeful  cause  closely  adhere. 

O  mother,  can  you  weep  and  have  such  peers  ? 

When  they  are  gone,  then  drown  yourself  in  tears, 

If  now  you  weep  so  much,  that  then  no  more 

The  briny  ocean  will  o'erflow  your  shore. 

These,  these  are  they,  I  trust,  with  Charles  our  king, 

Out  of  all  mists  such  glorious  days  shall  bring 

That  dazzled  eyes,  beholding,  much  shall  wonder 

At  that  thy  settled  peace,  thy  wealth,  and  splendor; 

Thy  church  and  weal  established  in  such  manner 

That  all  shall  joy  that  thou  displayedst  thy  banner; 

And  discipline  erefted  so,  I  trust, 

That  nursing  kings  shall  come  and  lick  thy  dust. 

Then  justice  shall  in  all  thy  courts  take  place 

Without  respecl  of  person  or  of  case; 


228       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Then  bribes  shall  cease,  and  suits  shall  not  stick  long, 

Patience  and  purse  of  clients  oft  to  wrong; 

Then  high  commissions  shall  fall  to  decay, 

And  pursuivants  and  catchpoles  want  their  pay. 

So  shall  thy  happy  nation  ever  flourish, 

When  truth  and  righteousness  they  thus  shall  nourish. 

When  thus  in  peace,  thine  armies  brave  send  out 

To  sack  proud  Rome,  and  all  her  vassals  rout; 

There  let  thy  name,  thy  fame,  and  glory  shine, 

As  did  thine  ancestors'  in  Palestine, 

And  let  her  spoils  full  pay  with  interest  be 

Of  what  unjustly  once  she  polled  from  thee. 

Of  all  the  woes  thou  canst  let  her  be  sped, 

And  on  her  pour  the  vengeance  threatened. 

Brjng  forth  the  beast  that  ruled  the  world  with  his  beck, 

And  tear  his  flesh,  and  set  your  feet  on  his  neck, 

And  make  his  filthy  den  so  desolate 

To  the  astonishment  of  all  that  knew  his  state. 

This  done,  with  brandished  swords  to  Turkey  go, — 

For  then  what  is  it  but  English  blades  dare  do?  — 

And  lay  her  waste, —  for  so  's  the  sacred  doom, — 

And  do  to  Gog  as  thou  hast  done  to  Rome. 

O  Abraham's  seed,  lift  up  your  heads  on  high, 

For  sure  the  day  of  your  redemption  's  nigh. 

The  scales  shall  fall  from  your  long  blinded  eyes, 

And  him  you  shall  adore  who  now  despise. 

Then  fulness  of  the  nations  in  shall  flow, 

And  Jew  and  Gentile  to  one  worship  go; 


JOHN  ELIOT. 
"  The  Apostle  of  the  Indians." 

From  the  original  painting  owned  by  Mrs.  William  Whiting, 
Roxbury,  Mass 


A  Dialogue  between  Old  England  and  New    229 

Then  follow  days  of  happiness  and  rest. 
Whose  lot  doth  fall  to  live  therein  is  blest. 
No  Canaanite  shall  then  be  found  in  the  land, 
And  holiness  on  horses'  bells  shall  stand. 
If  this  make  way  thereto,  then  sigh  no  more, 
But  if  at  all  thou  didst  not  see  it  before. 
Farewell,  dear  mother;  rightest  cause  prevail, 
And  in  a  while  you  '11  tell  another  tale. 


I5A 


AN  ELEGY  UPON  THAT  HONORABLE 
AND  RENOWNED  KNIGHT  SIR  PHILIP 
SIDNEY,  WHO  WAS  UNTIMELY  SLAIN 
AT  THE  SIEGE  OF  ZUTPHEN,  ANNO 
1586. 

When  England  did  enjoy  her  halcyon  days 
Her  noble  Sidney  wore  the  crown  of  bays, 
As  well  an  honor  to  our  British  land 
As  she  that  swayed  the  scepter  with  her  hand. 
Mars  and  Minerva  did  in  one  agree 
Of  arms  and  arts  he  should  a  pattern  be; 
Calliope  with  Terpsichore  did  sing 
Of  poesy  and  of  music  he  was  king. 
His  rhetoric  struck  Polyhymnia  dead, 
His  eloquence  made  Mercury  wax  red, 
His  logic  from  Euterpe  won  the  crown, 
More  worth  was  his  than  Clio  could  set  down. 
Thalia  and  Melpomene,  say  the  truth, — 
Witness  "Arcadia"  penned  in  his  youth, — 
Are  not  his  tragic  comedies  so  acled 
As  if  your  ninefold  wit  had  been  compacted 
230 


SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY. 


An  Elegy  upon  Sir  Philip  Sidney  231 

To  show  the  world  they  never  saw  before, 
That  this  one  volume  should  exhaust  your  store? 
His  wiser  days  condemned  his  witty  works. 
Who  knows  the  spell  that  in  his  rhetoric  lurks  ? 
But  some  infatuate  fools,  soon  caught  therein, 
Found  Cupid's  dam  had  never  such  a  gin, 
Which  makes  severer  eyes  but  slight  that  story, 
And  men  of  morose  minds  envy  his  glory. 
But  he  's  a  beetlehead  that  can't  descry 
A  world  of  wealth  within  that  rubbish  lie, 
And  doth  his  name,  his  work,  his  honor  wrong, 
The  brave  refiner  of  our  British  tongue, 
That  sees  not  learning,  valor,  and  morality, 
Justice,  friendship,  and  kind  hospitality, 
Yea,  and  divinity,  within  his  book. 
Such  were  prejudicate,  and  did  not  look. 
In  all  records  his  name  I  ever  see 
Put  with  an  epithet  of  dignity, 
Which  shows  his  worth  was  great,  his  honor  such 
The  love  his  country  ought  him  was  as  much. 
Then  let  none  disallow  of  these  my  strains 
Whilst  English  blood  yet  runs  within  my  veins. 
O  brave  Achilles,  I  wish  some  Homer  would 
Engrave  in  marble,  with  characters  of  gold, 
The  valiant  feats  thou  didst  on  Flanders'  coast, 
Which  at  this  day  fair  Belgia  may  boast. 
The  more  I  say,  the  more  thy  worth  I  stain. 
Thy  fame  and  praise  are  far  beyond  my  strain. 


232       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

O  Ziitphen,  Ziitphen,  that  most  fatal  city 

Made  famous  by  thy  death,  much  more  the  pity! 

Ah!  in  his  blooming  prime  death  plucked  this  rose 

Ere  he  was  ripe,  his  thread  cut  Atropos. 

Thus  man  is  born  to  die,  and  dead  is  he. 

Brave  Hedlor  by  the  walls  of  Troy  we  see. 

Oh,  who  was  near  thee  but  did  sore  repine 

He  rescued  not  with  life  that  life  of  thine  ? 

But  yet  impartial  fates  this  boon  did  give  — 

Though  Sidney  died,  his  valiant  name  should  live. 

And  live  it  doth,  in  spite  of  death  through  fame. 

Thus  being  overcome,  he  overcame. 

Where  is  that  envious  tongue  but  can  afford 

Of  this  our  noble  Scipio  some  good  word  ? 

Great  Bartas,  this  unto  thy  praise  adds  more, 

In  sad  sweet  verse  thou  didst  his  death  deplore. 

And  phenix  Spenser  doth  unto  his  life 

His  death  present  in  sable  to  his  wife, 

Stella  the  fair,  whose  streams  from  conduits  fell 

For  the  sad  loss  of  her  dear  Astrophel. 

Fain  would  I  show  how  he  fame's  paths  did  tread, 

But  now  into  such  labyrinths  I  am  led, 

With  endless  turns,  the  way  I  find  not  out. 

How  to  persist,  my  muse  is  more  in  doubt, 

Which  makes  me  now  with  Sylvester  confess 

But  Sidney's  muse  can  sing  his  worthiness. 

The  Muses'  aid  I  craved;  they  had  no  will 

To  give  to  their  detractor  any  quill. 


An  Elegy  upon  Sir  Philip  Sidney  233 

With  high  disdain  they  said  they  gave  no  more 
Since  Sidney  had  exhausted  all  their  store. 
They  took  from  me  the  scribbling  pen  I  had; 
I  to  be  eased  of  such  a  task  was  glad; 
Then  to  revenge  this  wrong  themselves  engage, 
And  drave  me  from  Parnassus  in  a  rage. 
Then  wonder  not  if  I  no  better  sped, 
Since  I  the  Muses  thus  have  injured. 
I,  pensive  for  my  fault,  sat  down,  and  then 
Errata,  through  their  leave,  threw  me  my  pen; 
My  poem  to  conclude  two  lines  they  deign, 
Which  writ,  she  bade  return  it  to  them  again. 
So  Sidney's  fame  I  leave  to  England's  rolls. 
His  bones  do  lie  interred  in  stately  Paul's. 


His  Epitaph. 

Here  lies  in  fame  under  this  stone 
Philip  and  Alexander  both  in  one, 
Heir  to  the  Muses,  the  son  of  Mars  in  truth, 
Learning,  valor,  wisdom,  all  in  virtuous  youth. 
His  praise  is  much ;  this  shall  suffice  my  pen 
That  Sidney  died  '  mong  most  renowned  of  men , 


*•*'*.*    »***;***+** 


4"#      *>  +  ;: •••*••»*      *«-*:'•••-.•<•»**      *^ 

****  +  +  *-       .          ,  +  »,,++:,.„  ^»^*.***H 

|K|i%:|:nr3!|!r" 

jiyt.a^bg&teda^ted^^^ 


IN   HONOR    OF   DU   BARTAS,   1641. 

Among  the  happy  wits  this  age  hath  shown, 
Great,  dear,  sweet  Bartas,  thou  art  matchless  known. 
My  ravished  eyes  and  heart,  with  faltering  tongue, 
In  humble  wise  have  vowed  their  service  long, 
But  knowing  the  task  so  great,  and  strength  but  small, 
Gave  o'er  the  work  before  begun  withal. 
My  dazzled  sight  of  late  reviewed  thy  lines, 
Where  art,  and  more  than  art,  in  nature  shines. 
Reflection  from  their  beaming  altitude 
Did  thaw  my  frozen  heart's  ingratitude, 
Which  rays,  darting  upon  some  richer  ground, 
Had  caused  flowers  and  fruits  soon  to  abound; 
But  barren  I  my  daisy  here  do  bring, 
A  homely  flower  in  this  my  latter  spring. 
If  summer  or  my  autumn  age  do  yield 
Flowers,  fruits,  in  garden,  orchard,  or  in  field, 
They  shall  be  consecrated  in  my  verse 
And  prostrate  offered  at  great  Bartas'  hearse. 
My  muse  unto  a  child  I  may  compare 
Who  sees  the  riches  of  some  famous  fair; 
234 


WILLIAM  SALLUST  DU  BARTAS. 

From  an  engraving. 


In  Honor  of  Du  Bart  as  235 

He  feeds  his  eyes,  but  understanding  lacks 

To  comprehend  the  worth  of  all  those  knacks. 

The  glittering  plate  and  jewels  he  admires, 

The  hats  and  fans,  the  plumes  and  ladies'  attires, 

And  thousand  times  his  amazed  mind  doth  wish 

Some  part,  at  least,  of  that  brave  wealth  were  his; 

But  seeing  empty  wishes  naught  obtain, 

At  night  turns  to  his  mother's  cot  again, 

And  tells  her  tales,  his  full  heart  over-glad, 

Of  all  the  glorious  sights  his  eyes  have  had, 

But  finds  too  soon  his  want  of  eloquence. 

The  silly  prattler  speaks  no  word  of  sense, 

But  seeing  utterance  fail  his  great  desires, 

Sits  down  in  silence,  deeply  he  admires. 

Thus  weak-brained  I,  reading  thy  lofty  style, 

Thy  profound  learning,  viewing  other  while 

Thy  art  in  natural  philosophy, 

Thy  saint-like  mind  in  grave  divinity, 

Thy  piercing  skill  in  high  astronomy, 

And  curious  insight  in  anatomy, 

Thy  physic,  music,  and  state  policy, 

Valor  in  war,  in  peace  good  husbandry. 

Sure  liberal  nature  did  with  art  not  small 

In  all  the  arts  make  thee  most  liberal. 

A  thousand  thousand  times  my  senseless  senses 

Moveless  stand,  charmed  by  thy  sweet  influences, 

More  senseless  than  the  stones  to  Amphion's  lute; 

Mine  eyes  are  sightless,  and  my  tongue  is  mute, 


236       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

My  full  astonished  heart  doth  pant  to  break, 

Through  grief  it  wants  a  faculty  to  speak. 

Volleys  of  praises  could  I  echo  then 

Had  I  an  angel's  voice  or  Bartas'  pen. 

But  wishes  can't  accomplish  my  desire. 

Pardon  if  I  adore  when  I  admire. 

O  France,  thou  didst  in  him  more  glory  gain 

Than  in  thy  Martel,  Pfpin,  Charlemagne, 

Than  in  St.  Louis,  or  thy  last  Henry  great, 

Who  tamed  his  foes  in  wars,  in  blood,  and  sweat. 

Thy  fame  is  spread  as  far,  I  dare  be  bold, 

In  all  the  zones,  the  temperate,  hot,  and  cold. 

Their  trophies  were  but  heaps  of  wounded  slain; 

Thine  the  quintessence  of  an  heroic  brain. 

The  oaken  garland  ought  to  deck  their  brows; 

Immortal  bays  to  thee  all  men  allow, 

Who  in  thy  triumphs  never  won  by  wrongs, 

Lead'st  millions  chained  by  eyes,  by  ears,  by  tongues. 

Oft  have  I  wondered  at  the  hand  of  heaven 

In  giving  one  what  would  have  served  seven. 

If  e'er  this  golden  gift  were  showered  on  any, 

Thy  double  portion  would  have  served  many. 

Unto  each  man  his  riches  are  assigned 

Of  name,  of  state,  of  body,  and  of  mind; 

Thou  hadst  thy  part  of  all  but  of  the  last. 

O  pregnant  brain,  O  comprehension  vast, 

Thy  haughty  style  and  rapted  wit  sublime 

All  ages,  wondering  at,  shall  never  climb. 


In  Honor  of  Du  Bart  as  237 

Thy  sacred  works  are  not  for  imitation, 

But  monuments  to  future  admiration. 

Thus  Bartas'  fame  shall  last  while  stars  do  stand, 

And  whilst  there  Js  air,  or  fire,  or  sea,  or  land. 

But  lest  mine  ignorance  should  do  thee  wrong, 

To  celebrate  thy  merits  in  my  song, 

I  '11  leave  thy  praise  to  those  shall  do  thee  right. 

Good-will,  not  skill,  did  cause  me  bring  my  mite. 


His  Epitaph. 

Here  lies  the  Pearl  of  France,  Parnassus'  glory; 
The  world  rejoiced  at  bis  birth,  at  his  death  was  sorry. 
Art  and  Nature  joined  by  heaven' s  high  decree 
Now  showed  what  once  they  ought,  humanity; 
And  Nature' s  law  had  it  been  revocable 
To  rescue  him  from  death  Art  had  been  able. 
But  Nature  vanquished  Art,  so  Bartas  died; 
But  fame  outliving  both,  he  is  revived. 


IN  HONOR  OF  THAT  HIGH  AND  MIGH 
TY  PRINCESS  QUEEN  ELIZABETH  OF 
HAPPY  MEMORY. 

THE  PROEM. 

Although,  great  queen,  thou  now  in  silence  lie, 
Yet  thy  loud  herald,  fame,  doth  to  the  sky 
Thy  wondrous  worth  proclaim  in  every  clime, 
And  so  hath  vowed  while  there  is  world  or  time. 
So  great  is  thy  glory  and  thine  excellence 
The  sound  thereof  rapts  every  human  sense, 
That  men  account  it  no  impiety 
To  say  thou  wert  a  fleshly  deity. 
Thousands  bring  offerings,  though  out  of  date, 
Thy  world  of  honors  to  accumulate; 
'Mongst  hundred  hecatombs  of  roaring  verse, 
Mine  bleating  stands  before  thy  royal  hearse. 
Thou  never  didst  nor  canst  thou  now  disdain 
To  accept  the  tribute  of  a  loyal  brain; 
Thy  clemency  did  erst  esteem  as  much 
The  acclamations  of  the  poor  as  rich, 
Which  makes  me  deem  my  rudeness  is  no  wrong, 
Though  I  resound  thy  praises  'mongst  the  throng. 


In  Honor  of  £>ueen  Elizabeth  239 

THE    POEM. 

No  phenix  pen,  nor  Spenser's  poetry, 
Nor  Speed's  nor  Camden's  learned  history, 
Eliza's  works,  wars,  praise,  can  e'er  compact. 
The  world  's  the  theater  where  she  did  aft. 
No  memories  nor  volumes  can  contain 
The  eleven  olympiads  of  her  happy  reign, 
Who  was  so  good,  so  just,  so  learned,  wise, 
From  all  the  kings  on  earth  she  won  the  prize. 
Nor  say  I  more  than  duly  is  her  due; 
Millions  will  testify  that  this  is  true. 
She  hath  wiped  off  the  aspersion  of  her  sex 
That  women  wisdom  lack  to  play  the  rex. 
Spain's  monarch  says  not  so,  nor  yet  his  host; 
She  taught  them  better  manners  to  their  cost. 
The  salic  law  in  force  now  had  not  been 
If  France  had  ever  hoped  for  such  a  queen. 
But  can  you,  doftors,  now  this  point  dispute, 
She  's  argument  enough  to  make  you  mute. 
Since  first  the  sun  did  run  his  near-run  race, 
And  earth  had,  once  a  year,  a  new-old  face, 
Since  time  was  time,  and  man  unmanly  man, 
Come  show  me  such  a  phenix  if  you  can  ? 
Was  ever  people  better  ruled  than  hers  ? 
Was  ever  land  more  happy,  freed  from  stirs? 
Did  ever  wealth  in  England  more  abound  ? 
Her  victories  in  foreign  coasts  resound. 


240       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Ships  more  invincible  than  Spain's,  her  foe 

She  wrecked,  she  sacked,  she  sunk  his  Armado; 

Her  stately  troops  advanced  to  Lisbon's  wall 

Don  Anthony  in  his  right  there  to  install; 

She  frankly  helped  Franks'  brave  distressed  king; 

The  states  united  now  her  fame  do  sing, 

She  their  protectrix  was  —  they  well  do  know 

Unto  our  dread  virago  what  they  owe. 

Her  nobles  sacrificed  their  noble  blood, 

Nor  men  nor  coin  she  spared  to  do  them  good. 

The  rude  untamed  Irish  she  did  quell; 

Before  her  picture  the  proud  Tyrone  fell. 

Had  ever  prince  such  counsellors  as  she  ? 

Herself,  Minerva,  caused  them  so  to  be. 

Such  captains  and  such  soldiers  never  seen 

As  were  the  subjects  of  our  Pallas  queen. 

Her  seamen  through  all  straits  the  world  did  round 

Terra  incognita  might  know  the  sound. 

Her  Drake  came  laden  home  with  Spanish  gold; 

Her  Essex  took  Cadiz,  their  herculean  hold. 

But  time  would  fail  me,  so  my  tongue  would,  too, 

To  tell  of  half  she  did  or  she  could  do. 

Semiramis  to  her  is  but  obscure  — 

More  infamy  than  fame  she  did  procure; 

She  built  her  glory  but  on  Babel's  walls, 

World's  wonder  for  awhile,  but  yet  it  falls. 

Fierce  Tomyris  (Cyrus'  headsman),  Scythians'  queen, 

Had  put  her  harness  off  had  she  but  seen 


In  Honor  of  Queen  Elizabeth  241 

Our  amazon  in  the  camp  of  Tilbury, 
Judging  all  valor  and  all  majesty 
Within  that  princess  to  have  residence, 
And  prostrate  yielded  to  her  excellence. 
Dido,  first  foundress  of  proud  Carthage*  walls, — 
Who  living  consummates  her  funerals  ?  — 
A  great  Elisa;  but  compared  with  ours 
How  vanisheth  her  glory,  wealth,  and  powers  ! 
Profuse,  proud  Cleopatra,  whose  wrong  name, 
Instead  of  glory,  proved  her  country7  s  shame, 
Of  her  what  worth  in  stories  to  be  seen 
But  that  she  was  a  rich  Egyptian  queen  ? 
Zenobia,  potent  empress  of  the  East, 
And  of  all  these  without  compare  the  best, 
Whom  none  but  great  Aurelian  could  quell, 
Yet  for  our  queen  is  no  fit  parallel. 
She  was  a  phenix  queen;  so  shall  she  be, 
Her  ashes  not  revived,  more  phenix  she. 
Her  personal  perfections  who  would  tell 
Must  dip  his  pen  in  the  Heliconian  well, 
Which  I  may  not;  my  pride  doth  but  aspire 
To  read  what  others  write,  and  so  admire. 
Now  say,  have  women  worth,  or  have  they  none  ? 
Or  had  they  some,  but  with  our  queen  is  it  gone  ? 
Nay,  masculines,  you  have  thus  taxed  us  long, 
But  she,  though  dead,  will  vindicate  our  wrong. 
Let  such  as  say  our  sex  is  void  of  reason 
Know  *t  is  a  slander  now,  but  once  was  treason. 
16 


242        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

But  happy  England,  which  had  such  a  queen! 

Yea,  happy,  happy,  had  those  days  still  been! 

But  happiness  lies  in  a  higher  sphere; 

Then  wonder  not  Eliza  moves  not  here. 

Full  fraught  with  honor,  riches,  and  with  days, 

She  set,  she  set,  like  Titan  in  his  rays. 

No  more  shall  rise  or  set  so  glorious  sun 

Until  the  heavens'  great  revolution. 

If  then  new  things  their  old  forms  shall  retain, 

Eliza  shall  rule  Albion  once  again. 


Her  Epitaph. 

Here  sleeps  the  queen;  this  is  the  royal  bed 
Qf  the  damask  rose  sprung  from  the  white  and  red, 
Whose  sweet  perfume  Jills  the  all-filling  air. 
This  rose  is  withered,  once  so  lovely  fair. 
On  neither  tree  did  grow  such  rose  before; — 
The  greater  was  our  gaint  our  loss  the  more. 


Another. 

Here  lies  the  pride  of  queens,  pattern  of  kings. 
So  blaze  it,  Fame;  here  are  feathers  for  thy  wings. 
Here  lies  the  envied  yet  unparalleled  prince, 
Whose  living  virtues  speak,  though  dead  long  since. 
If  many  worlds,  as  that  fantastic  framed, 
In  every  one  be  her  great  glory  famed. 


DAVID'S    LAMENTATION    FOR 
SAUL   AND   JONATHAN. 

//  Samuel  i.   19. 

Alas,  slain  is  the  head  of  Israel, 
Illustrious  Saul,  whose  beauty  did  excel! 
Upon  thy  places  mountainous  and  high 
How  did  the  mighty  fall,  and,  falling,  die! 
In  Gath  let  not  these  things  be  spoken  on, 
Nor  published  in  the  streets  of  Askelon, 
Lest  daughters  of  the  Philistines  rejoice, 
Lest  the  uncircumcised  lift  up  their  voice. 
O  Gilboa  mounts,  let  never  pearled  dew 
Nor  fruitful  showers  your  barren  tops  bestrew, 
Nor  fields  of  offerings  ever  on  you  grow, 
Nor  any  pleasant  thing  e'er  may  you  show; 
For  there  the  mighty  ones  did  soon  decay, 
The  shield  of  Saul  was  vilely  cast  away; 
There  had  his  dignity  so  sore  a  foil 
As  if  his  head  ne'er  felt  the  sacred  oil. 
Sometimes  from  crimson  blood  of  ghastly  slain 
The  bow  of  Jonathan  ne'er  turned  in  vain; 
243 


244       Tbe  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Nor  from  the  fat  and  spoils  of  mighty  men 
With  bloodless  sword  did  Saul  turn  back  again. 
Pleasant  and  lovely  were  they  both  in  life, 
And  in  their  death  was  found  no  parting  strife. 
Swifter  than  swiftest  eagles  so  were  they, 
Stronger  than  lions  ramping  for  their  prey. 
O  Israel's  dames,  o'erflow  your  beauteous  eyes 
For  valiant  Saul,  who  on  Mount  Gilboa  lies, 
Who  clothed  you  in  cloth  of  richest  dye, 
And  choice  delights  full  of  variety, 
On  your  array  put  ornaments  of  gold, 
Which  made  you  yet  more  beauteous  to  behold. 
Oh,  how  in  battle  did  the  mighty  fall 
In  midst  of  strength,  not  succored  at  all ! 
O  lovely  Jonathan,  how  wast  thou  slain! 
In  places  high  full  low  thou  didst  remain-. 
Distressed  for  thee  I  am,  dear  Jonathan; 
Thy  love  was  wonderful,  surpassing  man, 
Exceeding  all  the  love  that  's  feminine, 
So  pleasant  hast  thou  been,  dear  brother  mine. 
How  are  the  mighty  fallen  into  decay, 
And  warlike  weapons  perished  away! 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  DEAR  AND 
EVER  HONORED  FATHER  THOMAS 
DUDLEY,  ESQ.,  WHO  DECEASED  JULY 
31,  1653,  AND  OF  HIS  AGE  77. 

By  duty  bound,  and  not  by  custom  led 

To  celebrate  the  praises  of  the  dead, 

My  mournful  mind,  sore  pressed,  in  trembling  verse 

Presents  my  lamentations  at  his  hearse 

Who  was  my  father,  guide,  instructor,  too, 

To  whom  I  ought  whatever  I  could  do. 

Nor  is  it  relation  near  my  hand  shall  tie; 

For  who  more  cause  to  boast  his  worth  than  I  ? 

Who  heard,  or  saw,  observed,  or  knew  him  better, 

Or  who  alive  than  I  a  greater  debtor  ? 

Let  malice  bite,  and  envy  gnaw  its  fill, 

He  was  my  father,  and  I  '11  praise  him  still. 

Nor  was  his  name  or  life  led  so  obscure 

That  pity  might  some  trumpeters  procure, 

Who  after  death  might  make  him  falsely  seem 

Such  as  in  life  no  man  could  justly  deem. 

Well  known  and  loved,  where'er  he  lived,  by  most, 

Both  in  his  native  and  in  foreign  coast, 

These  to  the  world  his  merits  could  make  known, 

So  need  no  testimonial  from  his  own. 

l6A  245 


246        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

But  now  or  never  I  must  pay  my  sum; 

While  others  tell  his  worth,  I  '11  not  be  dumb. 

One  of  thy  founders  him,  New  England,  know, 

Who  stayed  thy  feeble  sides  when  thou  wast  low, 

Who  spent  his  state,  his  strength,  and  years  with  care 

That  aftercomers  in  them  might  have  share. 

True  patriot  of  this  little  commonweal, 

Who  is  it  can  tax  thee  aught  but  for  thy  zeal  ? 

Truth's  friend  thou  wert,  to  errors  still  a  foe, 

Which  caused  apostates  to  malign  thee  so. 

Thy  love  to  true  religion  e'er  shall  shine  — 

My  father's  God  be  God  of  me  and  mine! 

Upon  the  earth  he  did  not  build  his  nest, 

But  as  a  pilgrim  what  he  had  possessed. 

High  thoughts  he  gave  no  harbor  in  his  heart, 

Nor  honors  puffed  him  up,  when  he  had  part; 

Those  titles  loathed  which  some  too  much  do  love, 

For  truly  his  ambition  lay  above. 

His  humble  mind  so  loved  humility 

He  left  it  to  his  race  for  legacy, 

And  oft  and  oft,  with  speeches  mild  and  wise, 

Gave  his  in  charge  that  jewel  rich  to  prize. 

No  ostentation  seen  in  all  his  ways, 

As  in  the  mean  ones  of  our  foolish  days, 

Which  all  they  have,  and  more,  still  set  to  view 

Their  greatness  may  be  judged  by  what  they  show. 

His  thoughts  were  more  sublime,  his  actions  wise; 

Such  vanities  he  justly  did  despise. 


To  the  Memory  of  My  Father  247 

Nor  wonder  't  was  low  things  ne'er  much  did  move, 

For  he  a  mansion  had  prepared  above, 

For  which  he  sighed  and  prayed  and  longed  full  sore 

He  might  be  clothed  upon  for  evermore; 

Oft  spake  of  death,  and  with  a  smiling  cheer 

He  did  exult  his  end  was  drawing  near. 

Now  fully  ripe,  as  shock  of  wheat  that  's  grown, 

Death  as  a  sickle  hath  him  timely  mown, 

And  in  celestial  barn  hath  housed  him  high, 

Where  storms,  nor  showers,  nor  aught  can  damnify. 

His  generation  served,  his  labors  cease, 

And  to  his  fathers  gathered  is  in  peace. 

Ah  happy  soul,  'mongst  saints  and  angels  blest, 

Who  after  all  his  toil  is  now  at  rest! 

His  hoary  head  in  righteousness  was  found; 

As  joy  in  heaven,  on  earth  let  praise  resound. 

Forgotten  never  be  his  memory! 

His  blessing  rest  on  his  posterity! 

His  pious  footsteps  followed  by  his  race 

At  last  will  bring  us  to  that  happy  place 

Where  we  with  joy  each  other's  face  shall  see, 

And  parted  more  by  death  shall  never  be. 

His  Epitaph. 

Within  this  tomb  a  patriot  lies 
That  was  both  pious,  just,  and  wise, 
To  truth  a  shield,  to  right  a  wall, 
To  sectaries  a  whip  and  maul. 


248        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

A  magazine  of  history, 

A  prixer  of  good  company, 

In  manners  pleasant  and  severe, 

The  good  him  loved,  the  bad  did  fear; 

And  when  his  time  with  years  was  spent, 

If  some  rejoiced,  more  did  lament. 


AN  EPITAPH  ON  MY  DEAR  AND  EVER 
HONORED  MOTHER  MRS.  DOROTHY 
DUDLEY,  WHO  DECEASED  DECEMBER 
27,  1643,  AND  OF  HER  AGE  61. 

Here  lies 

A  worthy  matron  of  unspotted  life, 
A  loving  mother,  and  obedient  wife, 
A  friendly  neighbor,  pitiful  to  poor, 
Whom  oft  she  fed  and  cloth/ d  with  her  store; 
To  servants  wisely  aweful,  but  yet  kind, 
And  as  they  did  so  they  reward  did  fnd; 
A  true  instructor  of  her  family, 
The  which  she  ordered  with  dexterity; 
The  public  meetings  ever  did  frequent, 
And  in  her  closet  constant  hours  she  spent; 
Religious  in  all  her  words  and  ways, 
Preparing  still  for  death  till  end  of  days; 
Of  all  her  children  children  lived  to  see, 
Then,  dying,  left  a  blessed  memory. 


CONTEMPLATIONS. 

Some  time  now  past  in  the  autumnal  tide, 
When  Phoebus  wanted  but  one  hour  to  bed, 

The  trees  all  richly  clad,  yet  void  of  pride, 
Were  gilded  o'er  by  his  rich  golden  head; 

Their  leaves  and  fruits  seemed  painted,  but  were  true 

Of  green,  of  red,  of  yellow,  mixed  hue. 

Rapt  were  my  senses  at  this  dele&able  view. 

I  wist  not  what  to  wish,  yet  sure,  thought  I, 

If  so  much  excellence  abide  below 
How  excellent  is  He  that  dwells  on  high, 

Whose  power  and  beauty  by  his  works  we  know! 
Sure  He  is  goodness,  wisdom,  glory,  light, 
That  hath  this  under  world  so  richly  dight. 
More  heaven  than  earth  was  here,  no  winter  and  no  night, 

Then  on  a  stately  oak  I  cast  mine  eye, 

Whose  ruffling  top  the  clouds  seemed  to  aspire. 

How  long  since  thou  wast  in  thine  infancy  ? 

Thy  strength  and  stature  more  thy  years  admire. 
249 


250       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Hath  hundred  winters  passed  since  thou  wast  born, 
Or  thousand  since  thou  break' st  thy  shell  of  horn? 
If  so,  all  these  as  naught  eternity  doth  scorn. 


Then  higher  on  the  glistering  sun  I  gazed, 
Whose  beams  were  shaded  by  the  leafy  tree; 

The  more  I  looked  the  more  I  grew  amazed, 
And  softly  said,  What  glory  's  like  to  thee  ? 

Soul  of  this  world,  this  universe's  eye, 

No  wonder  some  made  thee  a  deity. 

Had  I  not  better  known,  alas,  the  same  had  I. 

Thou  as  a  bridegroom  from  thy  chamber  rushes, 

And  as  a  strong  man  joys  to  run  a  race; 
The  morn  doth  usher  thee  with  smiles  and  blushes, 

The  earth  reflects  her  glances  in  thy  face. 
Birds,  insefts,  animals,  with  vegetive, 
Thy  heart  from  death  and  dulness  doth  revive, 
And  in  the  darksome  womb  of  fruitful  nature  dive. 


Thy  swift  annual  and  diurnal  course, 

Thy  daily  straight  and  yearly  oblique  path, 

Thy  pleasing  fervor,  and  thy  scorching  force 
All  mortals  here  the  feeling  knowledge  hath. 

Thy  presence  makes  it  day,  thy  absence  night. 

Quaternal  seasons  caused  by  thy  might. 

Hail,  creature  full  of  sweetness,  beauty,  and  delight! 


Contemplations  251 

Art  thou  so  full  of  glory  that  no  eye 

Hath  strength  thy  shining  rays  once  to  behold  ? 
And  is  thy  splendid  throne  ereft  so  high 

As  to  approach  it  can  no  earthly  mould  ? 
How  full  of  glory  then  must  thy  Creator  be 
Who  gave  this  bright  light  luster  unto  thee  ? 
Admired,  adored,  forever  be  that  Majesty. 

Silent,  alone,  where  none  or  saw  or  heard, 
In  pathless  paths  I  led  my  wandering  feet; 

My  humble  eyes  to  lofty  skies  I  reared, 

To  sing  some  song  my  amazed  muse  thought  meet. 

My  great  Creator  I  would  magnify 

That  nature  had  thus  decked  liberally. 

But  ah,  and  ah  again,  my  imbecility! 

I  heard  the  merry  grasshopper  then  sing, 

The  black-clad  cricket  bear  a  second  part; 
They  kept  one  tune  and  played  on  the  same  string, 

Seeming  to  glory  in  their  little  art. 
Shall  creatures  abjecl:  thus  their  voices  raise, 
And  in  their  kind  resound  their  maker's  praise, 
Whilst  I  as  mute  can  warble  forth  no  higher  lays  ? 


252       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

When  present  times  look  back  to  ages  past, 
And  men  in  being  fancy  those  are  dead, 
It  makes  things  gone  perpetually  to  last, 

And  calls  back  months  and  years  that  long  since  fled; 
It  makes  a  man  more  aged  in  conceit 
Than  was  Methuselah  or  his  grandsire  great 
While  of  their  persons  and  their  afts  his  mind  doth  treat. 

Sometimes  in  Eden  fair  he  seems  to  be, 

Sees  glorious  Adam  there  made  lord  of  all, 
Fancies  the  apple  dangle  on  the  tree 

That  turned  his  sovereign  to  a  naked  thrall, 
Who  like  a  miscreant  was  driven  from  that  place 
To  get  his  bread  with  pain  and  sweat  of  face  — 
A  penalty  imposed  on  his  backsliding  race. 

Here  sits  our  grandam  in  retired  place, 

And  in  her  lap  her  bloody  Cain  new  born; 
The  weeping  imp  oft  looks  her  in  the  face, 

Bewails  his  unknown  hap  and  fate  forlorn. 
His  mother  sighs  to  think  of  paradise, 
And  how  she  lost  her  bliss  to  be  more  wise, 
Believing  him  that  was  and  is  father  of  lies. 

Here  Cain  and  Abel  come  to  sacrifice; 

Fruits  of  the  earth  and  fatlings  each  doth  bring. 
On  Abel's  gift  the  fire  descends  from  skies, 

But  no  such  sign  on  false  Cain's  offering. 


Contemplations  253 

With  sullen  hateful  looks  he  goes  his  ways, 
Hath  thousand  thoughts  to  end  his  brother's  days, 
Upon  whose  blood  his  future  good  he  hopes  to  raise. 

There  Abel  keeps  his  sheep,  no  ill  he  thinks; 

His  brother  comes,  then  acts  his  fratricide; 
The  virgin  earth  of  blood  her  first  draught  drinks, 

But  since  that  time  she  often  hath  been  cloyed. 
The  wretch  with  ghastly  face  and  dreadful  mind 
Thinks  each  he  sees  will  serve  him  in  his  kind, 
Though  none  on  earth  but  kindred  near  then  could 
he  find. 

Who  fancies  not  his  looks  now  at  the  bar, 

His  face  like  death,  his  heart  with  horror  fraught, 

Nor  malefactor  ever  felt  like  war 

When  deep  despair  with  wish  of  life  hath  sought. 

Branded  with  guilt,  and  crushed  with  treble  woes, 

A  vagabond  to  land  of  Nod  he  goes, 

A  city  builds,  that  walls  might  him  secure  from  foes. 

Who  thinks  not  oft  upon  the  fathers'  ages, 

Their  long  descent,  how  nephews'  sons  they  saw, 

The  starry  observations  of  those  sages, 

And  how  their  precepts  to  their  sons  were  law; 

How  Adam  sighed  to  see  his  progeny 

Clothed  all  in  his  black  sinful  livery, 

Who  neither  guilt  nor  yet  the  punishment  could  fly  ? 


254       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Our  life  compare  we  with  their  length  of  days, 
Who  to  the  tenth  of  theirs  doth  now  arrive  ? 

And  though  thus  short,  we  shorten  many  ways, 
Living  so  little  while  we  are  alive  — 

In  eating,  drinking,  sleeping,  vain  delight; 

So  unawares  comes  on  perpetual  night, 

And  puts  all  pleasures  vain  unto  eternal  flight. 


When  I  behold  the  heavens  as  in  their  prime, 

And  then  the  earth,  though  old,  still  clad  in  green, 

The  stones  and  trees  insensible  of  time, 

Nor  age  nor  wrinkle  on  their  front  are  seen; 

If  winter  come,  and  greenness  then  doth  fade, 

A  spring  returns,  and  they  're  more  youthful  made. 

But  man  grows  old,  lies  down,  remains  where  once 
he  's  laid. 

By  birth  more  noble  than  those  creatures  all, 
Yet  seems  by  nature  and  by  custom  cursed  — 

No  sooner  born  but  grief  and  care  make  fall 
That  state  obliterate  he  had  at  first; 

Nor  youth,  nor  strength,  nor  wisdom  spring  again, 

Nor  habitations  long  their  names  retain, 

But  in  oblivion  to  the  final  day  remain. 

Shall  I  then  praise  the  heavens,  the  trees,  the  earth, 
Because  their  beauty  and  their  strength  last  longer  ? 


Contemplations  255 

Shall  I  wish  there  or  never  to  had  birth, 

Because  they  're  bigger  and  their  bodies  stronger  ? 
Nay,  they  shall  darken,  perish,  fade,  and  die, 
And  when  unmade  so  ever  shall  they  lie; 
But  man  was  made  for  endless  immortality. 


Under  the  cooling  shadow  of  a  stately  elm 

Close  sat  I  by  a  goodly  river's  side 
Where  gliding  streams  the  rocks  did  overwhelm; 

A  lonely  place,  with  pleasures  dignified. 
I  once  that  loved  the  shady  woods  so  well 
Now  thought  the  rivers  did  the  trees  excel, 
And  if  the  sun  would  ever  shine  there  would  I  dwell. 

While  on  the  stealing  stream  I  fixed  mine  eye 
Which  to  the  longed-for  ocean  held  its  course, 

I  marked  nor  crooks  nor  rubs  that  there  did  lie 
Could  hinder  aught,  but  still  augment  its  force. 

O  happy  flood,  quoth  I,  that  holds  thy  race 

Till  thou  arrive  at  thy  beloved  place, 

Nor  is  it  rocks  or  shoals  that  can  obstruct  thy  pace. 

*''-S^ 

Nor  is  it  enough  that  thou  alone  mayst  slide, 

But  hundred  brooks  in  thy  clear  waves  do  meet; 

So  hand  in  hand  along  with  thee  they  glide 

To  Thetis'  house,  where  all  embrace  and  greet. 


256       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Thou  emblem  true  of  what  I  count  the  best, 

Oh,  could  I  lead  my  rivulets  to  rest! 

So  may  we  press  to  that  vast  mansion  ever  blest! 

Ye  fish  which  in  this  liquid  region  abide, 
That  for  each  season  have  your  habitation, 

Now  salt,  now  fresh,  where  you  think  best  to  glide, 
To  unknown  coasts  to  give  a  visitation, 

In  lakes  and  ponds  you  leave  your  numerous  fry; 

So  nature  taught,  and  yet  you  know  not  why, 

You  watery  folk  that  know  not  your  felicity. 

Look  how  the  wantons  frisk  to  taste  the  air, 
Then  to  the  colder  bottom  straight  they  dive; 

Eftsoon  to  Neptune*  s  glassy  hall  repair 

To  see  what  trade  the  great  ones  there  do  drive; 

Who  forage  o'er  the  spacious  sea-green  field, 

And  take  the  trembling  prey  before  it  yield; 

Whose  armor  is  their  scales,  their  spreading  fins  their 
shield. 

While  musing  thus  with  contemplation  fed, 

And  thousand  fancies  buzzing  in  my  brain, 
The  sweet-tongued  philomel  perched  o'er  my  head, 

And  chanted  forth  a  most  melodious  strain, 
Which  rapt  me  so  with  wonder  and  delight 
I  judged  my  hearing  better  than  my  sight, 
And  wished  me  wings  with  her  a  while  to  take  my  flight. 


Contemplations  257 

O  merry  bird,  said  I,  that  fears  no  snares, 

That  neither  toils  nor  hoards  up  in  thy  barn, 
Feels  no  sad  thoughts,  nor  cruciating  cares 

To  gain  more  good  or  shun  what  might  thee  harm, 
Thy  clothes  ne'er  wear,  thy  meat  is  everywhere, 
Thy  bed  a  bough,  thy  drink  the  water  clear, 
Reminds  not  what  is  past,  nor  what 's  to  come  dost  fear ! 

The  dawning  morn  with  songs  thou  dost  prevent, 
Settest  hundred  notes  unto  thy  feathered  crew; 

So  each  one  tunes  his  pretty  instrument, 
And,  warbling  out  the  old,  begins  anew. 

And  thus  they  pass  their  youth  in  summer  season, 

Then  follow  thee  into  a  better  region 

Where  winter  Js  never  felt  by  that  sweet  airy  legion. 


Man,  at  the  best  a  creature  frail  and  vain, 

In  knowledge  ignorant,  in  strength  but  weak, 
Subject  to  sorrows,  losses,  sickness,  pain, 

Each  storm  his  state,  his  mind,  his  body,  break, 
From  some  of  these  he  never  finds  cessation, 
But  day  or  night,  within,  without,  vexation, 
Troubles  from  foes,  from  friends,  from  dearest,  near 
est  relation. 

And  yet  this  sinful  creature,  frail  and  vain, 

This  lump  of  wretchedness,  of  sin  and  sorrow, 

This  weather-beaten  vessel  racked  with  pain, 
Joys  not  in  hope  of  an  eternal  morrow; 


258        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Nor  all  his  losses,  crosses,  and  vexation, 

In  weight,  in  frequency,  and  long  duration, 

Can  make  him  deeply  groan  for  that  divine  translation. 

The  mariner  that  on  smooth  waves  doth  glide 
Sings  merrily,  and  steers  his  bark  with  ease, 
As  if  he  had  command  of  wind  and  tide, 

And  now  become  great  master  of  the  seas; 
But  suddenly  a  storm  spoils  all  the  sport, 
And  makes  him  long  for  a  more  quiet  port, 
Which  'gainst  all  adverse  winds  may  serve  for  fort. 

So  he  that  faileth  in  this  world  of  pleasure, 
Feeding  on  sweets,  that  never  bit  of  the  sour, 

That's  full  of  friends,  of  honor,  and  of  treasure, 
Fond  fool,  he  takes  this  earth  e'en  for  heaven's  bower. 

But  sad  affliction  comes,  and  makes  him  see 

Here  's  neither  honor,  wealth,  nor  safety; 

Only  above  is  found  all  with  security. 

O  time,  the  fatal  wreck  of  mortal  things, 

That  draws  oblivion's  curtains  over  kings! 

Their  sumptuous  monuments  men  know  them  not, 

Their  names  without  a  record  are  forgot, 

Their  parts,  their  ports,  their  pomps,  all  laid  in  the  dust, 

Nor  wit,  nor  gold,  nor  buildings  'scape  time's  rust. 

But  he  whose  name  is  graved  in  the  white  stone 

Shall  last  and  shine  when  all  of  these  are  gone. 


THE   FLESH   AND   THE   SPIRIT. 

In  secret  place  where  once  I  stood, 
Close  by  the  banks  of  lacrym  flood, 
I  heard  two  sisters  reason  on 
Things  that  are  past  and  things  to  come. 
One  Flesh  was  called,  who  had  her  eye 
On  worldly  wealth  and  vanity; 
The  other  Spirit,  who  did  rear 
Her  thoughts  unto  a  higher  sphere. 
"Sister,"  quoth  Flesh,  "what  livest  thou  on 
Nothing  but  meditation  ? 
Doth  contemplation  feed  thee,  so 
Regardlessly  to  let  earth  go  ? 
Can  speculation  satisfy 
Notion  without  reality  ? 
Dost  dream  of  things  beyond  the  moon, 
And  dost  thou  hope  to  dwell  there  soon  ? 
Hast  treasures  there  laid  up  in  store 
That  all  in  the  world  thou  countest  poor  ? 
Art  fancy  sick,  or  turned  a  sot, 
To  catch  at  shadows  which  are  not  ? 
Come,  come,  I  '11  show  unto  thy  sense 
Industry  hath  its  recompense. 
What  canst  desire  but  thou  mayst  see 
True  substance  in  variety  ? 
259 


260       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Dost  honor  like  ?    Acquire  the  same, 
As  some  to  their  immortal  fame, 
And  trophies  to  thy  name  erect 
Which  wearing  time  shall  ne'er  deject. 
For  riches  dost  thou  long  full  sore  ? 
Behold  enough  of  precious  store; 
Earth  hath  more  silver,  pearls,  and  gold 
Than  eyes  can  see  or  hands  can  hold. 
Affedtest  thou  pleasure?  Take  thy  fill; 
Earth  hath  enough  of  what  you  will. 
Then  let  not  go  what  thou  mayst  find 
For  things  unknown,  only  in  mind." 
Spirit.    "Be  still,  thou  unregenerate  part; 
Disturb  no  more  my  settled  heart, 
For  I  have  vowed,  and  so  will  do, 
Thee  as  a  foe  still  to  pursue, 
And  combat  with  thee  will  and  must 
Until  I  see  thee  laid  in  the  dust. 
Sisters  we  are,  yea,  twins  we  be, 
Yet  deadly  feud  'twixt  thee  and  me; 
For  from  one  father  are  we  not. 
Thou  by  old  Adam  wast  begot, 
But  my  arise  is  from  above, 
Whence  my  dear  Father  I  do  love. 
Thou  speakest  me  fair,  but  hatest  me  sore; 
Thy  flattering  shows  I  '11  trust  no  more. 
How  oft  thy  slave  hast  thou  me  made 
When  I  believed  what  thou  hast  said, 


The  Flesh  and  the  Spirit  261 

And  never  had  more  cause  of  woe 

Than  when  I  did  what  thou  bad'st  do. 

I  Ml  stop  mine  ears  at  these  thy  charms, 

And  count  them  for  my  deadly  harms. 

Thy  sinful  pleasures  I  do  hate, 

Thy  riches  are  to  me  no  bait, 

Thine  honors  do  nor  will  I  love, 

For  my  ambition  lies  above. 

My  greatest  honor  it  shall  be 

When  I  am  viftor  over  thee, 

And  triumph  shall,  with  laurel  head, 

When  thou  my  captive  shalt  be  led. 

How  I  do  live  thou  needst  not  scoff, 

For  I  have  meat  thou  knowest  not  of: 

The  hidden  manna  I  do  eat, 

The  word  of  life  it  is  my  meat. 

My  thoughts  do  yield  me  more  content 

Than  can  thy  hours  in  pleasure  spent. 

Nor  are  they  shadows  which  I  catch, 

Nor  fancies  vain  at  which  I  snatch, 

But  reach  at  things  that  are  so  high 

Beyond  thy  dull  capacity. 

Eternal  substance  I  do  see, 

With  which  enriched  I  would  be; 

Mine  eye  doth  pierce  the  heavens,  and  see 

What  is  invisible  to  thee. 

My  garments  are  not  silk  or  gold, 

Nor  such  like  trash  which  earth  doth  hold, 


262       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

But  royal  robes  I  shall  have  on, 

More  glorious  than  the  glistering  sun. 

My  crown  not  diamonds,  pearls,  and  gold, 

But  such  as  angels'  heads  enfold. 

The  city  where  I  hope  to  dwell 

There  's  none  on  earth  can  parallel: 

The  stately  walls,  both  high  and  strong, 

Are  made  of  precious  jasper  stone; 

The  gates  of  pearl  both  rich  and  clear, 

And  angels  are  for  porters  there; 

The  streets  thereof  transparent  gold, 

Such  as  no  eye  did  e'er  behold; 

A  crystal  river  there  doth  run, 

Which  doth  proceed  from  the  Lamb's  throne; 

Of  life  there  are  the  waters  sure, 

Which  shall  remain  for  ever  pure; 

Of  sun  or  moon  they  have  no  need, 

For  glory  doth  from  God  proceed  — 

No  candle  there,  nor  yet  torch-light, 

For  there  shall  be  no  darksome  night. 

From  sickness  and  infirmity 

For  evermore  they  shall  be  free, 

Nor  withering  age  shall  e'er  come  there, 

But  beauty  shall  be  bright  and  clear. 

This  city  pure  is  not  for  thee, 

For  things  unclean  there  shall  not  be. 

If  I  of  Heaven  may  have  my  fill, 

Take  thou  the  world,  and  all  that  will. 


THE  VANITY  OF  ALL  WORLDLY  THINGS. 

As  he  said  vanity,  so  vain  say  I. 
O  vanity,  O  vain  all  under  sky! 
Where  is  the  man  can  say,  Lo,  I  have  found 
On  brittle  earth  a  consolation  sound  ? 
What,  is  it  in  honor  to  be  set  on  high  ? 
No;  they  like  beasts  and  sons  of  men  shall  die ; 
And  whilst  they  live,  how  oft  doth  turn  their  fate  — 
He  's  now  a  captive  that  was  king  of  late. 
What,  is  it  in  wealth,  great  treasures  to  obtain  ? 
No;  that  's  but  labor,  anxious  care,  and  pain. 
He  heaps  up  riches,  and  he  heaps  up  sorrow; 
It  's  his  to-day,  but  who  's  his  heir  to-morrow? 
What,  then,  content  in  pleasures  canst  thou  find  ? 
More  vain  than  all,  that 's  but  to  grasp  the  wind. 
The  sensual  senses  for  a  time  they  please; 
Meanwhile  the  conscience  rage,  who  shall  appease  ? 
What,  is  it  in  beauty?  No;  that  's  but  a  snare; 
They  're  foul  enough  to-day  that  once  were  fair. 
What,  is  it  in  flowering  youth,  or  manly  age  ? 
The  first  is  prone  to  vice,  the  last  to  rage. 
Where  is  it,  then,  in  wisdom,  learning,  arts  ? 
Sure  if  on  earth  it  must  be  in  those  parts. 
263 


264       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Yet  these  the  wisest  man  of  men  did  find 

But  vanity,  vexation  of  the  mind; 

And  he  that  knows  the  most  doth  still  bemoan 

He  knows  not  all  that  here  is  to  be  known. 

What  is  it  then,  to  do  as  stoics  tell  — 

Nor  laugh  nor  weep,  let  things  go  ill  or  well  ? 

Such  stoics  are  but  stocks,  such  teaching  vain; 

While  man  is  man,  he  shall  have  ease  or  pain. 

If  not  in  honor,  beauty,  age,  or  treasure, 

Nor  yet  in  learning,  wisdom,  youth,  or  pleasure, 

Where  shall  I  climb,  sound,  seek,  or  search,  or  find 

That  summum  bonum  which  may  stay  my  mind  ? 

There  is  a  path  no  vulture's  eye  hath  seen, 

Where  lion  fierce  nor  lion's  whelps  have  been, 

Which  leads  unto  that  living  crystal  fount 

Who  drinks  thereof  the  world  doth  naught  account. 

The  depth  and  sea  have  said  't  is  not  in  me; 

With  pearl  and  gold  it  shall  not  valued  be. 

For  sapphire,  onyx,  topaz,  who  would  change  ? 

It  's  hid  from  eyes  of  men;  they  count  it  strange. 

Death  and  destruction  the  fame  hath  heard, 

But  where  and  what  it  is  from  heaven  's  declared. 

It  brings  to  honor  which  shall  ne'er  decay; 

It  stores  with  wealth  which  time  can't  wear  away; 

It  yieldeth  pleasures  far  beyond  conceit, 

And  truly  beautifies  without  deceit; 

Nor  strength,  nor  wisdom,  nor  fresh  youth  shall  fade, 

Nor  death  shall  see,  but  are  immortal  made. 


The  Vanity  of  all  Worldly  Things  265 

This  pearl  of  price,  this  tree  of  life,  this  spring, 

Who  is  possessed  of  shall  reign  a  king, 

Nor  change  of  state  nor  cares  shall  ever  see, 

But  wear  his  crown  unto  eternity. 

This  satiates  the  soul;  this  stays  the  mind; 

And  all  the  rest  but  vanity  we  find. 


"6 


The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 
THE   AUTHOR    TO    HER   BOOK. 


Thou  ill-formed  offspring  of  my  feeble  brain, 

Who  after  birth  didst  by  my  side  remain 

Till  snatched  from  thence  by  friends  less  wise  than  true 

Who  thee  abroad  exposed  to  public  view, 

Made  thee,  in  rags,  halting,  to  the  press  to  trudge, 

Where  errors  were  not  lessened,  all  may  judge, 

At  thy  return  my  blushing  was  not  small 

My  rambling  brat  —  in  print  —  should  mother  call. 

I  cast  thee  by  as  one  unfit  for  light, 

Thy  visage  was  so  irksome  in  my  sight; 

Yet  being  mine  own,  at  length  affeftion  would 

Thy  blemishes  amend,  if  so  I  could. 

I  washed  thy  face,  but  more  defedls  I  saw, 

And  rubbing  off  a  spot  still  made  a  flaw. 

I  stretched  thy  joints  to  make  thee  even  feet, 

Yet  still  thou  runnest  more  hobbling  than  is  meet. 

In  better  dress  to  trim  thee  was  my  mind, 

But  naught  save  homespun  cloth  in  the  house  I  find. 

In  this  array  'mongst  vulgars  mayst  thou  roam, 

In  critics'  hands  beware  thou  dost  not  come, 

And  take  thy  way  where  yet  thou  art  not  known. 

If  for  thy  father  asked,  say  thou  hadst  none; 

And  for  thy  mother,  she,  alas,  is  poor, 

Which  caused  her  thus  to  send  thee  out  of  door. 


Several  other  poems  made  by  the  author  upon  divers  oc 
casions  were  found  among  her  papers  after  her  death, 
which  she  never  meant  should  come  to  public  view ; 
amongst  which  these  following,  at  the  desire  of  some 
friends  that  knew  her  well,  are  here  inserted. 

UPON  A  FIT   OF   SICKNESS,  ANNO    1632. 
^ETATIS   SU^E    19. 

Twice  ten  years  old  not  fully  told 

Since  nature  gave  me  breath, 
My  race  is  run,  my  thread  is  spun, 

Lo,  here  is  fatal  Death. 
All  men  must  die,  and  so  must  I, 

This  cannot  be  revoked; 
For  Adam's  sake  this  word  God  spake 

When  he  so  high  provoked. 
Yet  live  I  shall — this  life  *s  but  small  — 

In  place  of  highest  bliss, 
Where  I  shall  have  all  I  can  crave; 

No  life  is  like  to  this. 
For  what  's  this  life  but  care  and  strife  ? 

Since  first  we  came  from  womb 


268        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Our  strength  doth  waste,  our  time  doth  haste, 

And  then  we  go  to  the  tomb. 
O  bubble  blast,  how  long  canst  last 

That  always  art  a-breaking  ?  — 
No  sooner  blown  but  dead  and  gone, 

E'en  as  a  word  that 's  speaking. 
Oh,  whilst  I  live  this  grace  me  give, 

I  doing  good  may  be, 
Then  death's  arrest  I  shall  count  best, 

Because  it  's  thy  decree. 
Bestow  much  cost  there  's  nothing  lost 

To  make  salvation  sure; 
Oh,  great  's  the  gain,  though  got  with  pain, 

Comes  by  profession  pure. 
The  race  is  run,  the  field  is  won, 

The  vidlory  *s  mine,  I  see, 
For  ever  know,  thou  envious  foe, 

The  foil  belongs  to  thee. 

UPON   SOME   DISTEMPER   OF   BODY, 

In  anguish  of  my  heart  replete  with  woes, 
And  wasting  pains  which  best  my  body  knows, 
In  tossing  slumbers  on  my  wakeful  bed, 
Bedrenched  with  tears  that  flowed  from  mournful 

head 

Till  nature  had  exhausted  all  her  store, 
Then  eyes  lay  dry,  disabled  to  weep  more, 


Before  the  Birth  of  One  of  Her  Children      269 

And  looking  up  unto  his  throne  on  high 

Who  sendeth  help  to  those  in  misery, 

fte  chased  away  those  clouds,  and  let  me  see 

My  anchor  cast  in  the  vale  with  safety; 

He  eased  my  soul  of  woe,  my  flesh  of  pain, 

And  brought  me  to  the  shore  from  troubled  main. 


BEFORE   THE   BIRTH   OF   ONE   OF 
HER    CHILDREN. 

All  things  within  this  fading  world  have  end. 
Adversity  doth  still  our  joys  attend; 
No  ties  so  strong,  no  friends  so  dear  and  sweet, 
But  with  death's  parting  blow  are  sure  to  meet. 
The  sentence  passed  is  most  irrevocable, 
A  common  thing,  yet,  oh,  inevitable. 
How  soon,  my  dear,  death  may  my  steps  attend, 
How  soon  it  may  be  thy  lot  to  lose  thy  friend, 
We  both  are  ignorant;  yet  love  bids  me 
These  farewell  lines  to  recommend  to  thee, 
That  when  that  knot  's  untied  that  made  us  one 
I  may  seem  thine  who  in  effecT:  am  none. 
And  if  I  see  not  half  my  days  that  are  due, 
What  nature  would  God  grant  to  yours  and  you. 
The  many  faults  that  well  you  know  I  have 
Let  be  interred  in  my  oblivion's  grave; 
If  any  worth  or  virtue  were  in  me, 
Let  that  live  freshly  in  thy  memory, 


270       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

And  when  thou  feelest  no  grief,  as  I  no  harms, 
Yet  love  thy  dead,  who  long  lay  in  thine  arms; 
And  when  thy  loss  shall  be  repaid  with  gains 
Look  to  my  little  babes,  my  dear  remains, 
And  if  thou  love  thyself,  or  lovedst  me, 
These  oh  protect  from  stepdam's  injury. 
And  if  chance  to  thine  eyes  shall  bring  this  verse, 
With  some  sad  sighs  honor  my  absent  hearse; 
And  kiss  this  paper  for  thy  love's  dear  sake, 
Who  with  salt  tears  this  last  farewell  did  take. 

A.  B. 


TO    MY  DEAR   AND    LOVING   HUSBAND. 

If  ever  two  were  one,  then  surely  we; 

If  ever  man  were  loved  by  wife,  then  thee; 

If  ever  wife  was  happy  in  a  man, 

Compare  with  me,  ye  women,  if  you  can. 

I  prize  thy  love  more  than  whole  mines  of  gold, 

Or  all  the  riches  that  the  East  doth  hold. 

My  love  is  such  that  rivers  cannot  quench, 

Nor  aught  but  love  from  thee  give  recompense. 

Thy  love  is  such  I  can  no  way  repay; 

The  heavens  reward  thee  manifold,  I  pray. 

Then  while  we  live  in  love  let  's  so  persevere 
That  when  we  live  no  more  we  may  live  ever. 


A  Letter  to  Her  Husband  271 

A   LETTER   TO    HER   HUSBAND,  ABSENT 
UPON    PUBLIC    EMPLOYMENT. 

My  head,  my  heart,  mine  eyes,  my  life, —  nay,  more, 

My  joy,  my  magazine  of  earthly  store, — 

If  two  be  one,  as  surely  thou  and  I. 

How  stayest  thou  there,  whilst  I  at  Ipswich  lie  ?  — 

So  many  steps  head  from  the  heart  to  sever; 

If  but  a  neck  soon  should  we  be  together. 

I,  like  the  earth  this  season,  mourn  in  black, 

My  sun  is  gone  so  far  in  his  zodiac, 

Whom  whilst  I  enjoyed  nor  storms  nor  frosts  I 

felt, 

His  warmth  such  frigid  colds  did  cause  to  melt. 
My  chilled  limbs  now  numbed  lie  forlorn; 
Return,  return,  sweet  Sol,  from  Capricorn! 
In  this  dead  time,  alas,  what  can  I  more 
Than  view  those  fruits  which  through  thy  heat  I 

bore  ?  — 

Which  sweet  contentment  yield  me  for  a  space, 
True  living  pictures  of  their  father's  face. 

0  strange  effeft!  now  thou  art  southward  gone 

1  weary  grow,  the  tedious  day  so  long; 

But  when  thou  northward  to  me  shalt  return 
I  wish  my  sun  may  never  set,  but  burn 
Within  the  Cancer  of  my  glowing  breast, 
The  welcome  house  of  him  my  dearest  guest, 


272       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Where  ever,  ever  stay,  and  go  not  thence 
Till  nature's  sad  decree  shall  call  thee  hence. 
Flesh  of  thy  flesh,  bone  of  thy  bone, 
I  here,  thou  there,  yet  both  but  one. 

A.  B. 

ANOTHER. 

Phoebus,  make  haste,  the  day  's  too  long,  be  gone; 

The  silent  night  's  the  fittest  time  for  moan. 

But  stay  this  once,  unto  my  suit  give  ear, 

And  tell  my  griefs  in  either  hemisphere; 

And  if  the  whirling  of  thy  wheels  don't  drown 

The  woeful  accents  of  my  doleful  sound, 

If  in  thy  swift  career  thou  canst  make  stay, 

I  crave  this  boon,  this  errand  by  the  way: 

Commend  me  to  the  man  more  loved  than  life; 

Show  him  the  sorrows  of  his  widowed  wife  — 

My  dumpish  thoughts,  my  groans,  my  brackish  tears, 

My  sobs,  my  longing  hopes,  my  doubting  fears; 

And  if  he  love,  how  can  he  there  abide  ? 

My  interest  's  more  than  all  the  world  beside. 

He  that  can  tell  the  stars  or  ocean  sand, 

Or  all  the  grass  that  in  the  meads  do  stand, 

The  leaves  in  the  woods,  the  hails,  or  drops  of  rain, 

Or  in  a  corn-field  number  every  grain, 

Or  every  mote  that  in  the  sunshine  hops, 

May  count  my  sighs,  and  number  all  my  drops. 

Tell  him  the  countless  steps  that  thou  dost  trace 

That  once  a  day  thy  spouse  thou  mayst  embrace; 


A  Letter  to  Her  Husband  273 

And  when  thou  canst  not  treat  by  loving  mouth 

Thy  rays  afar  salute  her  from  the  south. 

But  for  one  month  I  see  no  day,  poor  soul, 

Like  those  far  situate  under  the  Pole, 

Which  day  by  day  long  wait  for  thy  arise; 

Oh,  how  they  joy  when  thou  dost  light  the  skies! 

O  Phoebus,  hadst  thou  but  thus  long  from  thine 

Restrained  the  beams  of  thy  beloved  shine, 

At  thy  return,  if  so  thou  couldst  or  durst, 

Behold  a  chaos  blacker  than  the  first. 

Tell  him  here  Js  worse  than  a  confused  matter  — 

His  little  world  Js  a  fathom  under  water; 

Naught  but  the  fervor  of  his  ardent  beams 

Hath  power  to  dry  the  torrent  of  these  streams. 

Tell  him  I  would  say  more,  but  cannot  well; 

Oppressed  minds  abruptest  tales  do  tell. 

Now  post  with  double  speed,  mark  what  I  say, 

By  all  our  loves  conjure  him  not  to  stay. 

ANOTHER. 

As  loving  hind  that,  hartless,  wants  her  deer 
Scuds  through  the  woods  and  fern  with  harkening  ear, 
Perplexed,  in  every  bush  and  nook  doth  pry 
Her  dearest  deer  might  answer  ear  or  eye, 
So  doth  my  anxious  soul,  which  now  doth  miss 
A  dearer  dear,  far  dearer  heart,  than  this, 
Still  wait  with  doubts,  and  hopes,  and  failing  eye 
His  voice  to  hear  or  person  to  descry. 
18 


274       Tbe  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

Or  as  the  pensive  dove  doth  all  alone 
On  withered  bough  most  uncouthly  bemoan 
The  absence  of  her  love  and  loving  mate 
Whose  loss  hath  made  her  so  unfortunate, 
E'en  thus  do  I,  with  many  a  deep  sad  groan, 
Bewail  my  turtle  true  who  now  is  gone, 
His  presence  and  his  safe  return  still  woo 
With  thousand  doleful  sighs  and  mournful  coo. 
Or  as  the  loving  mullet,  that  true  fish, 
Her  fellow  lost  nor  joy  nor  life  doth  wish, 
But  launches  on  that  shore  there  for  to  die 
Where  she  her  captive  husband  doth  espy, 
Mine  being  gone,  I  lead  a  joyless  life. 
I  have  a  loving  feer,  yet  seem  no  wife; 
But  worst  of  all,  to  him  can't  steer  my  course  — 
I  here,  he  there,  alas,  both  kept  by  force. 
Return,  my  dear,  my  joy,  my  only  love, 
Unto  thy  hind,  thy  mullet,  and  thy  dove, 
Who  neither  joys  in  pasture,  house,  nor  streams; 
The  substance  gone,  oh  me,  these  are  but  dreams. 
Together  at  one  tree  oh  let  us  browse, 
And  like  two  turtles  roost  within  one  house, 
And  like  the  mullets  in  one  river  glide  — 
Let  's  still  remain  but  one,  till  death  divide. 

Thy  loving  love  and  dearest  dear, 
At  home,  abroad,  and  everywhere, 

A.  B. 


In  Reference  to  Her  Children  275 

TO  HER   FATHER,  WITH   SOME  VERSES. 

Most  truly  honored,  and  as  truly  dear, 
If  worth  in  me  or  aught  I  do  appear 
Who  can  of  right  better  demand  the  same 
Than  may  your  worthy  self,  from  whom  it  came? 
The  principal  might  yield  a  greater  sum, 
Yet,  handled  ill,  amounts  but  to  this  crumb. 
My  stock  's  so  small  I  know  not  how  to  pay, 
My  bond  remains  in  force  unto  this  day; 
Yet  for  part  payment  take  this  simple  mite. 
Where  nothing  's  to  be  had  kings  lose  their  right. 
Such  is  my  debt  I  may  not  say  "  Forgive! " 
But  as  I  can  I  Ml  pay  it  while  I  live; 
Such  is  my  bond  none  can  discharge  but  I, 
Yet,  paying,  is  not  paid  until  I  die. 

A.  B. 

IN    REFERENCE    TO    HER    CHILDREN, 
23   JUNE,    1659. 

I  had  eight  birds  hatched  in  one  nest; 
Four  cocks  there  were,  and  hens  the  rest. 
I  nursed  them  up  with  pain  and  care, 
Nor  cost  nor  labor  did  I  spare, 
Till  at  the  last  they  felt  their  wing, 
Mounted  the  trees,  and  learned  to  sing. 


276       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Chief  of  the  brood  then  took  his  flight 

To  regions  far,  and  left  me  quite; 

My  mournful  chirps  I  after  send 

Till  he  return  or  I  do  end: 

Leave  not  thy  nest,  thy  dam,  and  sire; 

Fly  back  and  sing  amidst  this  choir. 

My  second  bird  did  take  her  flight, 

And  with  her  mate  flew  out  of  sight; 

Southward  they  both  their  course  did  bend, 

And  seasons  twain  they  there  did  spend, 

Till  after,  blown  by  southern  gales, 

They  northward  steered  with  filled  sails. 

A  prettier  bird  was  nowhere  seen 

Along  the  beach,  among  the  treen. 

I  have  a  third,  of  color  white, 

On  whom  I  placed  no  small  delight; 

Coupled  with  mate  loving  and  true, 

Hath  also  bid  her  dam  adieu, 

And  where  Aurora  first  appears 

She  now  hath  perched  to  spend  her  years. 

One  to  the  academy  flew 

To  chat  among  that  learned  crew; 

Ambition  moves  still  in  his  breast 

That  he  might  chant  above  the  rest, 

Striving  for  more  than  to  do  well  — 

That  nightingales  he  might  excel. 

My  fifth,  whose  down  is  yet  scarce  gone, 

Is  'mongst  the  shrubs  and  bushes  flown, 


In  Reference  to  Her  Children  277 

And  as  his  wings  increase  in  strength 
On  higher  boughs  he  '11  perch  at  length. 
My  other  three  still  with  me  nest 
Until  they  're  grown;  then,  as  the  rest, 
Or  here  or  there  they  '11  take  their  flight; 
As  is  ordained,  so  shall  they  light. 
If  birds  could  weep,  then  would  my  tears 
Let  others  know  what  are  my  fears 
Lest  this  my  brood  some  harm  should  catch 
And  be  surprised  for  want  of  watch: 
Whilst  pecking  corn,  and  void  of  care, 
They  fall  unawares  in  fowler's  snare; 
Or  whilst  on  trees  they  sit  and  sing, 
Some  untoward  boy  at  them  do  fling; 
Or  whilst  allured  with  bell  and  glass, 
The  net  be  spread,  and  caught,  alas! 
Or  lest  by  lime-twigs  they  be  foiled, 
Or  by  some  greedy  hawks  be  spoiled. 
Oh,  would,  my  young,  ye  saw  my  breast, 
And  knew  what  thoughts  there  sadly  rest. 
Great  was  my  pain  when  I  you  bred, 
Great  was  my  care  when  I  you  fed; 
Long  did  I  keep  you  soft  and  warm, 
And  with  my  wings  kept  off  all  harm. 
My  cares  are  more,  and  fears,  than  ever, 
My  throbs  such  now  as  'fore  were  never. 
Alas,  my  birds,  you  wisdom  want; 
Of  perils  you  are  ignorant  — 

I8A 


278        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Ofttimes  in  grass,  on  trees,  in  flight, 

Sore  accidents  on  you  may  light. 

Oh,  to  your  safety  have  an  eye; 

So  happy  may  you  live  and  die. 

Meanwhile  my  days  in  tunes  I  Ml  spend 

Till  my  weak  lays  with  me  shall  end; 

In  shady  woods  I  '11  sit  and  sing, 

Things  that  are  past  to  mind  I  '11  bring  — 

Once  young  and  pleasant,  as  are  you. 

But  former  toys, —  not  joys, —  adieu! 

My  age  I  will  not  once  lament, 

But  sing  my  time  so  near  is  spent, 

And  from  the  top  bough  take  my  flight 

Into  a  country  beyond  sight, 

Where  old  ones  instantly  grow  young, 

And  there  with  seraphims  set  song. 

No  seasons  cold  nor  storms  they  see, 

But  spring  lasts  to  eternity. 

When  each  of  you  shall  in  your  nest 

Among  your  young  ones  take  your  rest, 

In  chirping  language  oft  them  tell 

You  had  a  dam  that  loved  you  well, 

That  did  what  could  be  done  for  young, 

And  nursed  you  up  till  you  were  strong; 

And  'fore  she  once  would  let  you  fly 

She  showed  you  joy  and  misery, 

Taught  what  was  good,  and  what  was  ill, 

What  would  save  life,  and  what  would  kill. 


In  Memory  of  Elizabeth  Bradstreet          279 

Thus  gone,  amongst  you  I  may  live, 
And  dead,  yet  speak,  and  counsel  give. 
Farewell,  my  birds,  farewell,  adieu! 
I  happy  am  if  well  with  you. 


IN  MEMORY  OF  MY  DEAR  GRANDCHILD 
ELIZABETH  BRADSTREET,  WHO  DE 
CEASED  AUGUST,  1665,  BEING  A  YEAR 
AND  A  HALF  OLD. 

Farewell,  dear  babe,  my  heart's  too  much  content! 

Farewell,  sweet  babe,  the  pleasure  of  mine  eye ! 
Farewell,  fair  flower  that  for  a  space  was  lent, 

Then  taken  away  unto  eternity! 
Blest  babe,  why  should  I  once  bewail  thy  fate, 
Or  sigh  the  days  so  soon  were  terminate, 
Since  thou  art  settled  in  an  everlasting  state  ? 

By  nature  trees  do  rot  when  they  are  grown, 

And  plums  and  apples  throughly  ripe  do  fall, 
And  corn  and  grass  are  in  their  season  mown, 

And  time  brings  down  what  is  both  strong  and  tall. 
But  plants  new  set  to  be  eradicate, 
And  buds  new  blown  to  have  so  short  a  date, 
Is  by  His  hand  alone  that  guides  nature  and  fate. 


z8o        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

IN  MEMORY  OF  MY  DEAR  GRANDCHILD 
ANNE  BRADSTREET,  WHO  DECEASED 
JUNE  20,  1669,  BEING  THREE  YEARS 
AND  SEVEN  MONTHS  OLD. 

With  troubled  heart  and  trembling  hand  I  write. 

The  heavens  have  changed  to  sorrow  my  delight. 

How  oft  with  disappointment  have  I  met 

When  I  on  fading  things  my  hopes  have  set. 

Experience  might  'fore  this  have  made  me  wise 

To  value  things  according  to  their  price. 

Was  ever  stable  joy  yet  found  below  ? 

Or  perfect  bliss  without  mixture  of  woe  ? 

I  knew  she  was  but  as  a  withering  flower, 

That  's  here  to-day,  perhaps  gone  in  an  hour; 

Like  as  a  bubble,  or  the  brittle  glass, 

Or  like  a  shadow  turning,  as  it  was. 

More  fool,  then,  I  to  look  on  that  was  lent 

As  if  mine  own,  when  thus  impermanent. 

Farewell,  dear  child;  thou  ne'er  shalt  come  to  me, 

But  yet  a  while  and  I  shall  go  to  thee. 

Meantime  my  throbbing  heart 's  cheered  up  with  this — 

Thou  with  thy  Saviour  art  in  endless  bliss. 


To  the  Memory  of  Mercy  Bradstreet         281 

ON  MY  DEAR  GRANDCHILD  SIMON 
BRADSTREET,  WHO  DIED  ON  i6TH  NO 
VEMBER,  1669,  BEING  BUT  A  MONTH 
AND  ONE  DAY  OLD. 

No  sooner  come  but  gone,  and  fallen  asleep; 
Acquaintance  short,  yet  parting  caused  us  weep. 
Three  flowers — two  scarcely  blown,  the  last  in  bud — 
Cropped  by  the  Almighty's  hand!     Yet  is  he  good. 
With  dreadful  awe  before  him  let 's  be  mute. 
Such  was  his  will,  but  why  let 's  not  dispute. 
With  humble  hearts  and  mouths  put  in  the  dust 
Let  *s  say  he  *s  merciful  as  well  as  just. 
He  will  return,  and  make  up  all  our  losses, 
And  smile  again,  after  our  bitter  crosses. 
Go,  pretty  babe;  go  rest  with  sisters  twain; 
Among  the  blest  in  endless  joys  remain. 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  DEAR  DAUGH 
TER-IN-LAW  MRS.  MERCY  BRAD- 
STREET,  WHO  DECEASED  SEPTEMBER 
6,  1670,  IN  THE  28TH  YEAR  OF  HER  AGE. 

And  live  I  still  to  see  relations  gone  ? 
And  yet  survive  to  sound  this  wailing  tone  ? 
Ah,  woe  is  me,  to  write  thy  funeral  song 
Who  might  in  reason  yet  have  lived  long. 


282        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

I  saw  the  branches  lopped,  the  tree  now  fall, 

I  stood  so  nigh  it  crushed  me  down  withal; 

My  bruised  heart  lies  sobbing  at  the  root 

That  thou,  dear  son,  hath  lost  both  tree  and  fruit. 

Thou  then,  on  seas  sailing  to  foreign  coast, 

Wast  ignorant  what  riches  thou  hadst  lost; 

But,  ah!  too  soon  those  heavy  tidings  fly 

To  strike  thee  with  amazing  misery. 

Oh,  how  I  sympathize  with  thy  sad  heart, 

And  in  thy  griefs  still  bear  a  second  part. 

I  lost  a  daughter  dear,  but  thou  a  wife 

Who  loved  thee  more,  it  seemed,  than  her  own  life  — 

Thou  being  gone,  she  longer  could  not  be 

Because  her  soul  she  'd  sent  along  with  thee. 

One  week  she  only  passed  in  pain  and  woe, 

And  then  her  sorrows  all  at  once  did  go. 

A  babe  she  left  before  she  soared  above, 

The  fifth  and  last  pledge  of  her  dying  love. 

Ere  nature  would  it  hither  did  arrive; 

No  wonder  it  no  longer  did  survive. 

So  with  her  children  four  she  's  now  at  rest, 

All  freed  from  grief,  I  trust,  among  the  blest. 

She  one  hath  left,  a  joy  to  thee  and  me; 

The  heavens  vouchsafe  she  may  so  ever  be. 

Cheer  up,  dear  son,  thy  fainting  bleeding  heart 

In  Him  alone  that  caused  all  this  smart. 

What  though  thy  strokes  full  sad  and  grievous  be? 

He  knows  it  is  the  best  for  thee  and  me. 


A  FUNERAL  ELEGY  UPON  THAT  PAT 
TERN  AND  PATRON  OF  VIRTUE, 
THE  TRULY  PIOUS,  PEERLESS,  AND 
MATCHLESS  GENTLEWOMAN  MRS. 
ANNE  BRADSTREET,  RIGHT  PANA- 
RETES,  MIRROR  OF  HER  AGE,  GLORY 
OF  HER  SEX,  WHOSE  HEAVEN-BORN 
SOUL,  LEAVING  ITS  EARTHLY  SHRINE, 
CHOSE  ITS  NATIVE  HOME  AND  WAS 
TAKEN  TO  ITS  REST  UPON  i6TH 
SEPTEMBER,  1672. 

Ask  not  why  hearts  turn  magazines  of  passions, 
And  why  that  grief  is  clad  in  several  fashions; 
Why  she  on  progress  goes,  and  doth  not  borrow 
The  smallest  respite  from  the  extremes  of  sorrow. 
Her  misery  is  got  to  such  an  height 
As  makes  the  earth  groan  to  support  its  weight; 
Such  storms  of  woe  so  strongly  have  beset  her 
She  hath  no  place  for  worse  nor  hope  for  better. 
Her  comfort  is,  if  any  for  her  be, 
That  none  can  show  more  cause  of  grief  than  she. 
283 


284  A  Funeral  Elegy  upon  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Ask  not  why  some  in  mournful  black  are  clad: 

The  sun  is  set;  there  needs  must  be  a  shade. 

Ask  not  why  every  face  a  sadness  shrouds: 

The  setting  sun  o'ercast  us  hath  with  clouds. 

Ask  not  why  the  great  glory  of  the  sky, 

That  gilds  the  stars  with  heavenly  alchemy, 

Which  all  the  world  doth  lighten  with  his  rays, 

The  Persian  god,  the  monarch  of  the  days  — 

Ask  not  the  reason  of  his  ecstasy, 

Paleness  of  late,  in  midnoon  majesty; 

Why  that  the  palefaced  empress  of  the  night 

Disrobed  her  brother  of  his  glorious  light. 

Did  not  the  language  of  the  stars  foretell 

A  mournful  scene  when  they  with  tears  did  swell? 

Did  not  the  glorious  people  of  the  sky 

Seem  sensible  of  future  misery? 

Did  not  the  lowering  heavens  seem  to  express 

The  world's  great  loss,  and  their  unhappiness? 

Behold  how  tears  flow  from  the  learned  hill, 

How  the  bereaved  Nine  do  daily  fill 

The  bosom  of  the  fleeting  air  with  groans 

And  woeful  accents,  which  witness  their  moans; 

How  do  the  goddesses  of  verse,  the  learned  choir, 

Lament  their  rival  quill,  which  all  admire. 

Could  Maro's  muse  but  hear  her  lively  strain 

He  would  condemn  his  works  to  fire  again. 

Methinks  I  hear  the  patron  of  the  spring, 

The  unshorn  deity,  abruptly  sing: 


A  Funeral  Elegy  upon  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet  285 

"Some  do  for  anguish  weep;  for  anger  I 

That  ignorance  should  live  and  art  should  die. 

Black,  fatal,  dismal,  inauspicious  day, 

Unblest  for  ever  by  Sol's  precious  ray, 

Be  it  the  first  of  miseries  to  all, 

Or  last  of  life,  defamed  for  funeral. 

When  this  day  yearly  comes  let  every  one 

Cast  in  their  urn  the  black  and  dismal  stone; 

Succeeding  years  as  they  their  circuit  go 

Leap  o'er  this  day,  as  a  sad  time  of  woe. 

Farewell,  my  muse;  since  thou  hast  left  thy  shrine 

I  am  unblest  in  One,  but  blest  in  Nine. 

Fair  Thespian  ladies,  light  your  torches  all; 

Attend  your  glory  to  its  funeral. 

To  court  her  ashes  with  a  learned  tear, 

A  briny  sacrifice,  let  not  a  smile  appear." 

Grave  matron,  whoso  seeks  to  blazon  thee 

Needs  not  make  use  of  wit's  false  heraldry; 

Whoso  should  give  thee  all  thy  worth  would  swell 

So  high  as  it  would  turn  the  world  infidel. 

Had  he  great  Maro's  muse,  or  Tully's  tongue, 

Or  raping  numbers  like  the  Thracian  song, 

In  crowning  of  her  merits  he  would  be 

Sumptuously  poor,  low  in  hyperbole. 

To  write  is  easy;  but  to  write  on  thee 

Truth  would  be  thought  to  forfeit  modesty. 

He  '11  seem  a  poet  that  shall  speak  but  true; 

Hyperboles  in  others  are  thy  due. 


286  A  Funeral  Elegy  upon  Mrs.  Anne  Erddstreet 

Like  a  most  servile  flatterer  he  will  show, 
Though  he  write  truth,  and  make  the  subjeft  you. 
Virtue  ne'er  dies;  time  will  a  poet  raise, 
Born  under  better  stars,  shall  sing  thy  praise. 
Praise  her  who  list,  yet  he  shall  be  a  debtor, 
For  art  ne'er  feigned  nor  nature  framed  a  better. 
Her  virtues  were  so  great  that  they  do  raise 
A  work  to  trouble  fame,  astonish  praise. 
Whenas  her  name  doth  but  salute  the  ear, 
Men  think  that  they  perfection's  abstract  hear. 
Her  breast  was  a  brave  palace,  a  Broad-street, 
Where  all  heroic  ample  thoughts  did  meet, 
Where  nature  such  a  tenement  had  ta'en 
That  others'  souls  to  hers  dwelt  in  a  lane. 
Beneath  her  feet  pale  envy  bites  her  chain, 
And  poison  malice  whets  her  sting  in  vain. 
Let  every  laurel,  every  myrtle  bough, 
Be  stripped  for  leaves  to  adorn  and  load  her 

brow  — 

Victorious  wreaths,  which  'cause  they  never  fade 
Wise  elder  times  for  kings  and  poets  made. 
Let  not  her  happy  memory  e'er  lack 
Its  worth  in  fame's  eternal  almanac, 
Which  none  shall  read  but  straight  their  loss 

deplore, 

And  blame  their  fates  they  were  not  born  before. 
Do  not  old  men  rejoice  their  fates  did  last, 
And  infants,  too,  that  theirs  did  make  such  haste 


A  Funeral  Elegy  upon  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet  287 

In  such  a  welcome  time  to  bring  them  forth 
That  they  might  be  a  witness  to  her  worth? 
Who  undertakes  this  subject  to  commend 
Shall  nothing  find  so  hard  as  how  to  end. 

Finis  &  Non. 

JOHN  NORTON. 

Omnia  Romans  fie  ant  miracula  gentis. 


[All  the  following  compositions  of  Mrs.  Bradstreet 
were  first  printed  in  the  I  867  edition  of  her  writings 
edited  by  Mr.  John  H.  Ellis.  He  found  them  in  a 
small  journal  in  the  possession  of  one  of  her  descen 
dants.  The  "Meditations  Divine  and  Moral"  were 
in  the  handwriting  of  Mrs.  Bradstreet  herself.] 


19  289 


FOR  MY  DEAR  SON  SIMON  BRADSTREET. 

Parents  perpetuate  their  lives  in  their  posterity,  and 
their  manners  in  their  imitation.  Children  do  natu 
rally  rather  follow  the  failings  than  the  virtues  of 
their  predecessors ;  but  I  am  persuaded  better  things 
of  you.  You  once  desired  me  to  leave  something  for 
you  in  writing  that  you  might  look  upon  when  you 
should  see  me  no  more.  I  could  think  of  nothing  more 
fit  for  you,  nor  of  more  ease  to  myself,  than  these 
short  meditations  following.  Such  as  they  are  I  be 
queath  to  you  :  small  legacies  are  accepted  by  true 
friends,  much  more  by  dutiful  children.  I  have 
avoided  encroaching  upon  others'  conceptions,  be 
cause  I  would  leave  you  nothing  but  mine  own ; 
though  in  value  they  fall  short  of  all  in  this  kind, 
yet  I  presume  they  will  be  better  prized  by  you  for 
the  author's  sake.  The  Lord  bless  you  with  grace 
here,  and  crown  you  with  glory  hereafter,  that  I  may 
meet  you  with  rejoicing  at  that  great  day  of  appear 
ing,  which  is  the  continual  prayer  of 

Your  affectionate  mother, 

March  20,  1664.  A.  B. 

291 


292        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

MEDITATIONS   DIVINE   AND   MORAL. 

.  There  is  no  object  that  we  see,  no  action  that  we 
do,  no  good  that  we  enjoy,  no  evil  that  we  feel  or 
fear,  but  we  may  make  some  spiritual  advantage  of  all; 
and  he  that  makes  such  improvement  is  wise  as  well 
as  pious. 

Many  can  speak  well,  but  few  can  do  well.  We 
are  better  scholars  in  the  theory  than  the  practice 
part;  but  he  is  a  true  Christian  that  is  a  proficient  in 
both. 

Youth  is  the  time  of  getting,  middle  age  of  improv 
ing,  and  old  age  of  spending;  a  negligent  youth  is  usu 
ally  attended  by  an  ignorant  middle  age,  and  both  by 
an  empty  old  age.  He  that  hath  nothing  to  feed  on 
but  vanity  and  lies  must  needs  lie  down  in  the  bed  of 
sorrow. 

A  ship  that  bears  much  sail,  and  little  or  no  ballast, 
is  easily  overset;  and  that  man  whose  head  hath  great 
abilities,  and  his  heart  little  or  no  grace,  is  in  danger 
of  foundering. 

It  is  reported  of  the  peacock  that  priding  himself 
in  his  gay  feathers  he  ruffles  them  up;  but  spying  his 
black  feet  he  soon  lets  fall  his  plumes.  So  he  that 
glories  in  his  gifts  and  adornings  should  look  upon  his 
corruptions,  and  that  will  damp  his  high  thoughts. 


Meditations  Divine  and  Moral  293 

The  finest  bread  hath  the  least  bran,   the   purest 
i  honey  the  least  wax,  and  the  sincerest  Christian  the 
least  self-love. 

The  hireling  that  labors  all  the  day  comforts  him 
self  that  when  night  comes  he  shall  both  take  his  rest 
and  receive  his  reward.  'The  painful  Christian  that  hath 
wrought  hard  in  God's  vineyard,  and  hath  borne  the 
heat  and  drought  of  the  day,  when  he  perceives  his 
sun  apace  to  decline,  and  the  shadows  of  his  evening 
to  be  stretched  out,  lifts  up  his  head  with  joy,  know 
ing  his  refreshing  is  at  hand. 

Downy  beds  make  drowsy  persons,  but  hard  lodg 
ing  keeps  the  eyes  open.  A  prosperous  state  makes  a 
secure  Christian,  but  adversity  makes  him  consider. 

Sweet  words  are  like  honey:  a  little  may  refresh, 
but  too  much  gluts  the  stomach. 

Diverse  children  have  their  different  natures:  some 
are  like  flesh  which  nothing  but  salt  will  keep  from 
putrefaftion;  some  again  like  tender  fruits  that  are 
best  preserved  with  sugar.  Those  parents  are  wise  that 
can  fit  their  nurture  according  to  their  nature.  ^ 

That  town  which  thousands  of  enemies  without 
hath  not  been  able  to  take  hath  been  delivered  up  by 
one  traitor  within;  and  that  man  which  all  the  temp 
tations  of  Satan  without  could  not  hurt  hath  been 
soiled  by  one  lust  within. 

I9A 


294       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

r~~ 

Authority  without  wisdom  is  like  a  heavy  axe  with 
out  an  edge  —  fitter  to  bruise  than  polish. 

The  reason  why  Christians  are  so  loth  to  exchange 
this  world  for  a  better  is  because  they  have  more 
sense  than  faith:  they  see  what  they  enjoy,  they  do 
but  hope  for  that  which  is  to  come. 

If  we  had  no  winter,  the  spring  would  not  be  so 
pleasant;  if  we  did  not  sometimes  taste  of  adversity, 
prosperity  would  not  be  so  welcome. 

A  low  man  can  go  upright  under  that  door  where 
a  taller  is  glad  to  stoop;  so  a  man  of  weak  faith  and 
mean  abilities  may  undergo  a  cross  more  patiently 
than  he  that  excels  him  both  in  gifts  and  graces. 

That  house  which  is  not  often  swept  makes  the 
cleanly  inhabitant  soon  loathe  it;  and  that  heart  which 
is  not  continually  purifying  itself  is  no  fit  temple  for 
the  spirit  of  God  to  dwell  in. 

Few  men  are  so  humble  as  not  to  be  proud  of  their 
abilities;  and  nothing  will  abase  them  more  than  this: 
What  hast  thou  but  what  thou  hast  received  ?  Come, 
give  an  account  of  thy  stewardship. 

He  that  will  undertake  to  climb  up  a  steep  mountain 
with  a  great  burden  on  his  back  will  find  it  a  weari 
some  if  not  an  impossible  task;  so  he  that  thinks  to 
mount  to  heaven  clogged  with  the  cares  and  riches  of 
this  life,  't  is  no  wonder  if  he  faint  by  the  way. 


Meditations  Divine  and  Moral  295 

Corn  till  it  has  passed  through  the  mill  and  been 
ground  to  powder  is  not  fit  for  bread.  God  so  deals 
with  his  servants:  he  grinds  them  with  grief  and  pain 
till  they  turn  to  dust,  and  then  are  they  fit  manchet 
for  his  mansion. 

God  hath  suitable  comforts  and  supports  for  his 
children  according  to  their  several  conditions  if  he  will 
make  his  face  to  shine  upon  them.  He  then  makes 
them  lie  down  in  green  pastures,  and  leads  them  be 
side  the  still  waters;  if  they  stick  in  deep  mire  and 
clay,  and  all  his  waves  and  billows  go  over  their  heads, 
he  then  leads  them  to  the  rock  which  is  higher  than 
they. 

He  that  walks  among  briers  and  thorns  will  be 
very  careful  where  he  sets  his  foot;  and  he  that  passes 
through  the  wilderness  of  this  world  had  need  pon 
der  all  his  steps. 

Want  of  prudence  as  well  as  piety  hath  brought 
men  into  great  inconveniences;  but  he  that  is  well 
stored  with  both  seldom  is  so  ensnared. 

The  skilful  fisher  hath  his  several  baits  for  several 
fish,  but  there  is  a  hook  under  all;  Satan,  that  great 
angler,  hath  his  sundry  baits  for  sundry  tempers  of 
men,  which  they  all  catch  greedily  at,  but  few  per 
ceive  the  hook  till  it  be  too  late. 

There  is  no  new  thing  under  the  sun;  there  is  noth- 


296        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

ing  that  can  be  said  or  done  but  either  that  or  some 
thing  like  it  hath  been  both  done  and  said  before. 

An  aching  head  requires  a  soft  pillow,  and  a  droop 
ing  heart  a  strong  support. 

A  sore  finger  may  disquiet  the  whole  body,  but  an 
ulcer  within  destroys  it;  so  an  enemy  without  may 
disturb  a  commonwealth,  but  dissensions  within  over 
throw  it. 

It  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  behold  the  light,  but  sore 
eyes  are  not  able  to  look  upon  it;  the  pure  in  heart 
shall  see  God,  but  the  defiled  in  conscience  shall 
rather  choose  to  be  buried  under  rocks  and  mountains 
than  to  behold  the  presence  of  the  Lamb. 

Wisdom  with  an  inheritance  is  good,  but  wisdom 
without  an  inheritance  is  better  than  an  inheritance 
without  wisdom. 

Lightning  doth  usually  precede  thunder,  and  storms 
rain;  and  strokes  do  not  often  fall  till  after  threatening. 

Yellow  leaves  argue  the  want  of  sap,  and  gray  hairs 
the  want  of  moisture;  so  dry  and  sapless  performances 
are  symptoms  of  little  spiritual  vigor. 

Iron  till  it  be  thoroughly  heated  is  incapable  to  be 
wrought;  so  God  sees  good  to  cast  some  men  into  the 
furnace  of  affliction,  and  then  beats  them  on  his  anvil 
into  what  frame  he  pleases. 


Meditations  Divine  and  Moral  297 

Ambitious  men  are  like  hops,  that  never  rest  climbing 
so  long  as  they  have  anything  to  stay  upon;  but  take 
away  their  props  and  they  are  of  all  the  most  deje&ed. 

Much  labor  wearies  the  body,  and  many  thoughts 
oppress  the  mind;  man  aims  at  profit  by  the  one  and       ^ 
content  in  the  other,  but  often  misses  of  both,  and 
finds  nothing  but  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit. 

Dim  eyes  are  the  concomitants  of  old  age;  and 
short-sightedness,  in  those  that  are  eyes  of  a  republic, 
foretells  a  declining  state. 

We  read  in  Scripture  of  three  sorts  of  arrows  — 
the  arrow  of  an  enemy,  the  arrow  of  pestilence,  and 
the  arrow  of  a  slanderous  tongue.  The  first  two  kill  the 
body,  the  last  the  good  name;  the  former  two  leave  a 
man  when  he  is  once  dead,  but  the  last  mangles  him 
in  his  grave. 

Sore  laborers  have  hard  hands,  and  old  sinners  have 
brawny  consciences. 

Wickedness  comes  to  its  height  by  degrees.  He 
that  dares  say  of  a  less  sin,  Is  it  not  a  little  one  ?  will 
ere  long  say  of  a  greater,  Tush,  God  regards  it  not! 

Some  children  are  hardly  weaned;  although  the  teat 
be  rubbed  with  wormwood  or  mustard,  they  will 
either  wipe  it  off,  or  else  suck  down  sweet  and  bitter 
together.  So  is  it  with  some  Christians:  let  God  em 
bitter  all  the  sweets  of  this  life,  that  so  they  might 


298       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

feed  upon  more  substantial  food,  yet  they  are  so  child 
ishly  sottish  that  they  are  still  hugging  and  sucking 
these  empty  breasts,  that  God  is  forced  to  hedge  up 
their  way  with  thorns,  or  lay  affliction  on  their  loins, 
that  so  they  might  shake  hands  with  the  world  before 

it  bid  them  farewell. 

s 

A  prudent  mother  will  not  clothe  her  little  child 
with  a  long  and  cumbersome  garment;  she  easily  fore 
sees  what  events  it  is  like  to  produce  —  at  the  best  but 
falls  and  bruises,  or  perhaps  somewhat  worse.  Much 
more  will  the  All-wise  God  proportion  his  dispensa 
tions  according  to  the  stature  and  strength  of  the 
person  he  bestows  them  on.  Large  endowments  of 
honor,  wealth,  or  a  healthful  body  would  quite  over 
throw  some  weak  Christian;  therefore  God  cuts  their 
garments  short,  to  keep  them  in  such  a  trim  that  they 
might  run  the  ways  of  his  commandment. 

The  spring  is  a  lively  emblem  of  the  Resurrection. 
After  a  long  winter  we  see  the  leafless  trees  and  dry 
stalks  at  the  approach  of  the  sun  to  resume  their 
former  vigor  and  beauty  in  a  more  ample  manner  than 
what  they  lost  in  the  autumn.  So  shall  it  be  at  that 
great  day,  after  a  long  vacation,  when  the  Sun  of  Right 
eousness  shall  appear:  those  dry  bones  shall  arise  in  far 
more  glory  than  that  which  they  lost  at  their  creation, 
and  in  this  transcend  the  spring  —  that  their  leaf  shall 
never  fail,  nor  their  sap  decline. 


Meditations  Divine  and  Moral  299 

A  wise  father  will  not  lay  a  burden  on  a  child  of 
seven  years  old  which  he  knows  is  enough  for  one  of 
twice  his  strength;  much  less  will  our  heavenly  Father, 
who  knows  our  mold,  lay  such  afflictions  upon  his 
weak  children  as  would  crush  them  to  the  dust,  but 
according  to  the  strength  he  will  proportion  the  load. 
As  God  hath  his  little  children,  so  he  hath  his  strong 
men,  such  as  are  come  to  a  full  stature  in  Christ;  and 
many  times  he  imposes  weighty  burdens  on  their 
shoulders,  and  yet  they  go  upright  under  them.  But  it 
matters  not  whether  the  load  be  more  or  less  if  God 
afford  his  help. 

"  I  have  seen  an  end  of  all  perfection,"  said  the  royal 
prophet;  but  he  never  said,  "I  have  seen  an  end  of  all 
sinning. ' '  What  he  did  say  may  be  easily  said  by  many ; 
but  what  he  did  not  say  cannot  truly  be  uttered  by  any. 

Fire  hath  its  force  abated  by  water,  not  by  wind; 
and  anger  must  be  allayed  by  cold  words,  and  not  by 
blustering  threats. 

A  sharp  appetite  and  a  thorough  concoftion  are  a 
sign  of  an  healthful  body;  so  a  quick  reception  and 
a  deliberate  cogitation  argue  a  sound  mind. 

We  often  see  stones  hang  with  drops,  not  from  any 
innate  moisture,  but  from  a  thick  air  about  them;  so 
may  we  sometimes  see  marble-hearted  sinners  seem 
full  of  contrition,  but  it  is  not  from  any  dew  of  grace 


300       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

within,  but  from  some  black  clouds  that  impend  them, 
which  produce  these  sweating  effefts. 

The  words  of  the  wise,  saith  Solomon,  are  as  nails 
and  as  goads,  both  used  for  contrary  ends  —  the  one 
holds  fast,  the  other  puts  forward.  Such  should  be  the 
precepts  of  the  wise  masters  of  assemblies  to  their 
hearers,  not  only  to  bid  them  hold  fast  the  form  of 
sound  dodlrine,  but  also  so  to  run  that  they  might 
obtain. 

A  shadow  in  the  parching  sun  and  a  shelter  in  a 
blustering  storm  are  of  all  seasons  the  most  welcome; 
so  a  faithful  friend  in  time  of  adversity  is  of  all  other 
most  comfortable. 

There  is  nothing  admits  of  more  admiration  than 
God's  various  dispensation  of  his  gifts  among  the  sons 
of  men,  betwixt  whom  he  hath  put  so  vast  a  dispro 
portion  that  they  scarcely  seem  made  of  the  same 
lump  or  sprung  out  of  the  loins  of  one  Adam :  some 
set  in  the  highest  dignity  that  mortality  is  capable  of, 
and  some  again  so  base  that  they  are  viler  than  the 
earth;  some  so  wise  and  learned  that  they  seem  like 
angels  among  men,  and  some  again  so  ignorant  and 
sottish  that  they  are  more  like  beasts  than  men;  some 
pious  saints,  some  incarnate  devils;  some  exceeding 
beautiful,  and  some  extremely  deformed;  some  so 
strong  and  healthful  that  their  bones  are  full  of  mar 
row  and  their  breasts  of  milk,  and  some  again  so  weak 


Meditations  Divine  and  Moral  301 

and  feeble  that,  while  they  live,  they  are  accounted 
among  the  dead.  And  no  other  reason  can  be  given 
of  all  this  but  so  it  pleased  Him  whose  will  is  the 
perfedl  rule  of  righteousness. 

The  treasures  of  this  world  may  well  be  compared 
to  husks;  for  they  have  no  kernel  in  them,  and  they 
that  feed  upon  them  may  soon  stuff  their  throats  but 
cannot  fill  their  bellies  —  they  may  be  choked  by  them, 
but  cannot  be  satisfied  with  them. 

Sometimes  the  sun  is  only  shadowed  by  a  cloud 
that  we  cannot  see  his  luster,  although  we  may  walk 
by  his  light;  but  when  he  is  set  we  are  in  darkness  till 
he  arise  again.  So  God  doth  sometimes  veil  his  face  but 
for  a  moment  that  we  cannot  behold  the  light  of  his 
countenance  as  at  some  other  time;  yet  he  affords  so 
much  light  as  may  direct  our  way,  that  we  may  go 
forward  to  the  city  of  habitation.  But  when  he  seems 
to  set  and  be  quite  gone  out  of  sight,  then  must  we 
needs  walk  in  darkness  and  see  no  light;  yet  then  must 
we  trust  in  the  Lord,  and  stay  upon  our  God,  and 
when  the  morning,  which  is  the  appointed  time,  is 
come  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  will  arise  with  healing 
in  his  wings. 

The  eyes  and  the  ears  are  the  inlets  or  doors  of  the 
soul,  through  which  innumerable  objefts  enter;  yet  is 
not  that  spacious  room  filled,  neither  doth  it  ever  say, 
"It  is  enough!'*  but  like  the  daughters  of  the  horse- 


302       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

leech  cries,  "Give!  Give!"  And,  which  is  most 
strange,  the  more  it  receives,  the  more  empty  it  finds 
itself,  and  sees  an  impossibility  ever  to  be  filled  but 
by  Him  in  whom  all  fulness  dwells. 

Had  not  the  wisest  of  men  taught  us  this  lesson, 
that  all  is  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit,  yet  our  own 
experience  would  soon  have  spelled  it  out;  for  what 
do  we  obtain  of  all  these  things  but  it  is  with  labor  and 
vexation  ?  When  we  enjoy  them  it  is  with  vanity  and 
vexation;  and  if  we  lose  them  then  they  are  less  than 
vanity  and  more  than  vexation.  So  that  we  have  good 
cause  often  to  repeat  that  sentence,  "Vanity  of  vani 
ties,  vanity  of  vanities;  all  is  vanity." 

He  that  is  to  sail  into  a  far  country,  although  the 
ship,  cabin,  and  provision  be  all  convenient  and  com 
fortable  for  him,  yet  he  hath  no  desire  to  make  that 
his  place  of  residence,  but  longs  to  put  in  at  that  port 
where  his  business  lies.  A  Christian  is  sailing  through 
this  world  unto  his  heavenly  country,  and  here  he 
hath  many  conveniences  and  comforts;  but  he  must  be 
ware  of  desiring  to  make  this  the  place  of  his  abode,  lest 
he  meet  with  such  tossings  that  may  cause  him  to  long 
for  shore  before  he  sees  land.  We  must,  therefore, 
be  here  as  strangers  and  pilgrims,  that  we  may  plainly 
declare  that  we  seek  a  city  above,  and  wait  all  the 
days  of  our  appointed  time  till  our  change  shall  come. 

He   that   never   felt  what   it  was    to    be    sick    or 


Meditations  Divine  and  Moral  303 

wounded  doth  not  much  care  for  the  company  of  the 
physician  or  chirurgeon;  but  if  he  perceive  a  malady 
that  threatens  him  with  death  he  will  gladly  entertain 
him  whom  he  slighted  before.  So  he  that  never  felt 
the  sickness  of  sin  nor  the  wounds  of  a  guilty  conscience 
cares  not  how  far  he  keeps  from  him  that  hath  skill  to 
cure  it;  but  when  he  finds  his  diseases  to  distress  him, 
and  that  he  must  needs  perish  if  he  have  no  remedy, 
will  unfeignedly  bid  him  welcome  that  brings  a  plas 
ter  for  his  sore  or  a  cordial  for  his  fainting. 

We  read  of  ten  lepers  that  were  cleansed,  but  of  one 
that  returned  thanks.  We  are  more  ready  to  receive 
mercies  than  we  are  to  acknowledge  them.  Men  can 
use  great  importunity  when  they  are  in  distresses,  and 
show  great  ingratitude  after  their  successes;  but  he 
that  ordereth  his  conversation  aright  will  glorify  him 
that  heard  him  in  the  day  of  his  trouble. 

The  remembrance  of  former  deliverances  is  a  great 
support  in  present  distresses.  "He  that  delivered 
me,"  saith  David,  "from  the  paw  of  the  lion  and  the 
paw  of  the  bear  will  deliver  me  from  this  uncircum- 
cised  Philistine";  and  "He  that  hath  delivered  me," 
saith  Paul,  "will  deliver  me."  God  is  the  same 
yesterday,  to-day,  and  for  ever;  we  are  the  same  that 
stand  in  need  of  him,  to-day  as  well  as  yesterday,  and 
so  shall  for  ever. 

Great  receipts  call  for  great  returns;  the  more  that 


304        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

any  man  is  intrusted  withal,  the  larger  his  accounts 
stand  upon  God's  score.  It  therefore  behooves  every 
man  so  to  improve  his  talents  that  when  his  great  Mas 
ter  shall  call  him  to  reckoning  he  may  receive  his  own 
with  advantage. 

Sin  and  shame  ever  go  together;  he  that  would  be 
freed  from  the  last  must  be  sure  to  shun  the  company 
of  the  first. 

God  doth  many  times  both  reward  and  punish  for 
one  and  the  same  aftion.  As  we  see  in  Jehu,  he  is 
rewarded  with  a  kingdom  to  the  fourth  generation  for 
taking  vengeance  on  the  house  of  Ahab;  and  yet  "A 
little  while,"  saith  God,  "and  I  will  avenge  the  blood 
of  Jezebel  upon  the  house  of  Jehu."  He  was  rewarded 
for  the  matter,  and  yet  punished  for  the  manner;  which 
should  warn  him  that  doth  any  special  service  for 
God  to  fix  his  eye  on  the  command,  and  not  on  his 
own  ends,  lest  he  meet  with  Jehu's  reward,  which 
will  end  in  punishment. 

He  that  would  be  content  with  a  mean  condition 
must  not  cast  his  eye  upon  one  that  is  in  a  far  better 
estate  than  himself,  but  let  him  look  upon  him  that  is 
lower  than  he  is,  and,  if  he  see  that  such  a  one  bears 
poverty  comfortably,  it  will  help  to  quiet  him;  but  if 
that  will  not  do,  let  him  look  on  his  own  unworthi- 
ness,  and  that  will  make  him  say  with  Jacob,  "I  am 
less  than  the  least  of  thy  mercies." 


Meditations  Divine  and  Moral  305 

Corn  is  produced  with  much  labor,  as  the  husband 
man  well  knows,  and  some  land  asks  much  more 
pains  than  some  other  doth  to  be  brought  into  tilth; 
yet  all  must  be  plowed  and  harrowed.  Some  chil 
dren,  like  sour  land,  are  of  so  tough  and  morose  a  dis 
position  that  the  plow  of  correction  must  make  long 
furrows  on  their  back,  and  the  harrow  of  discipline 
go  often  over  them,  before  they  be  fit  soil  to  sow  the 
seed  of  morality,  much  less  of  grace,  in  them.  But 
when  by  prudent  nurture  they  are  brought  into  a  fit 
capacity,  let  the  seed  of  good  instruction  and  exhorta 
tion  be  sown  in  the  spring  of  their  youth,  and  a  plenti 
ful  crop  may  be  expedled  in  the  harvest  of  their  years. 

As  man  is  called  the  little  world,  so  his  heart  may 
be  called  the  little  commonwealth;  his  more  fixed  and 
resolved  thoughts  are  like  to  inhabitants,  his  slight  and 
flitting  thoughts  are  like  passengers  that  travel  to  and 
fro  continually.  Here  is  also  the  great  court  of  justice 
erefted,  which  is  always  kept  by  conscience,  who  is 
both  accuser,  excuser,  witness,  and  judge,  whom  no 
bribes  can  pervert  nor  flattery  cause  to  favor,  but  as 
he  finds  the  evidence  so  he  absolves  or  condemns; 
yea,  so  absolute  is  this  court  of  judicature  that  there 
is  no  appeal  from  it  —  no,  not  to  the  court  of  Heaven 
itself.  For  if  our  conscience  condemn  us,  he  also 
who  is  greater  than  our  conscience  will  do  it  much 
more;  but  he  that  would  have  boldness  to  go  to  the 
20 


306        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

throne  of  grace  to  be  accepted  there  must  be  sure  to 
carry  a  certificate  from  the  court  of  conscience  that 
he  stands  right  there. 

He  that  would  keep  a  pure  heart  and  lead  a  blame 
less  life  must  set  himself  always  in 'the  awful  pres 
ence  of  God;  the  consideration  of  his  all-seeing  eye 
will  be  a  bridle  to  restrain  from  evil  and  a  spur  to 
quicken  on  to  good  duties.  We  certainly  dream  of  some 
remoteness  betwixt  God  and  us,  or  else  we  should  not 
so  often  fail  in  our  whole  course  of  life  as  we  do;  but 
he  that  with  David  sets  the  Lord  always  in  his  sight 
will  not  sin  against  him. 

We  see  in  orchards  some  trees  so  fruitful  that  the 
weight  of  their  burden  is  the  breaking  of  their  limbs; 
some  again  are  but  meanly  laden,  and  some  have 
nothing  to  show  but  leaves  only,  and  some"  among 
them  are  dry  stalks.  So  is  it  in  the  church,  which  is 
God's  orchard:  there  are  some  eminent  Christians 
that  are  so  frequent  in  *good  duties  that  many  times 
the  weight  thereof  impairs  both  their  bodies  and  es 
tates;  and  there  are  some,  and  they  sincere  ones,  too, 
who  have  not  attained  to  that  fruitfulness,  although 
they  aim  at  perfection;  and  again  there  are  others 
that  have  nothing  to  commend  them  but  only  a  gay 
profession,  and  these  are  but  leafy  Christians  which 
are  in  as  much  danger  of  being  cut  down  as  the  dry 
stalks,  for  both  cumber  the  ground. 


Meditations  Divine  and  Moral  307 

We  see  in  the  firmament  there  is  but  one  sun  among 
a  multitude  of  stars,  and  those  stars  also  to  differ  much 
one  from  the  other  in  regard  of  bigness  and  bright 
ness;  yet  all  receive  their  light  from  that  one  sun.  So  is 
it  in  the  church  both  militant  and  triumphant:  there  is 
but  one  Christ,  who  is  the  Sun  of  Righteousness,  in  the 
midst  of  an  innumerable  company  of  saints  and  angels. 
Those  saints  have  their  degrees  even  in  this  life:  some 
are  stars  of  the  first  magnitude,  and  some  of  a  less  de 
gree,  and  others  —  and  they  indeed  the  most  in  num 
ber —  but  small  and  obscure;  yet  all  receive  their  lus 
ter,  be  it  more  or  less,  from  that  glorious  Sun  that 
enlightens  all  in  all.  And  if  some  of  them  shine  so 
bright  while  they  move  on  earth,  how  transcendently 
splendid  shall  they  be  when  they  are  fixed  in  their 
heavenly  spheres! 

Men  that  have  walked  very  extravagantly,  and  at 
last  bethink  themselves  of  turning  to  God,  the  first 
thing  which, they  eye  is  how  to  reform  their  ways 
rather  than  to  beg  forgiveness  for  their  sins.  Nature 
looks  more  at  a  compensation  than  at  a  pardon;  but 
he  that  will  not  come  for  mercy  without  money  and 
without  price,  but  brings  his  filthy  rags  to  barter  for  it, 
shall  meet  with  miserable  disappointment,  going  away 
empty,  bearing  the  reproach  of  his  pride  and  folly. 

All  the  works  and  doings  of  God  are  wonderful, 
but  none  more  awful  than  his  great  work  of  ele&ion 


30 8        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

and  reprobation.  When  we  consider  how  many  good 
parents  have  had  bad  children,  and  again  how  many 
bad  parents  have  had  pious  children,  it  should  make  us 
adore  the  sovereignty  of  God,  who  will  not  be  tied  to 
time  nor  place,  nor  yet  to  persons,  but  takes  and 
chooses  when  and  where  and  whom  he  pleases.  It 
should  also  teach  the  children  of  godly  parents  to 
walk  with  fear  and  trembling,  lest  they,  through  un 
belief,  fall  short  of  a  promise.  It  may  also  be  a  sup 
port  to  such  as  have  or  had  wicked  parents,  that  if 
they  abide  not  in  unbelief  God  is  able  to  graft  them 
in.  The  upshot  of  all  should  make  us,  with  the  apostle, 
to  admire  the  justice  and  mercy  of  God,  and  say,  How 
unsearchable  are  his  ways,  and  his  footsteps  past  find 
ing  out. 

The  gifts  that  God  bestows  on  the  sons  of  men 
are  not  only  abused,  but  most  commonly  employed 
for  a  clean  contrary  end  than  that  which  they  were 
given  for  —  as  health,  wealth,  and  honor,  which  might 
be  so  many  steps  to  draw  men  to  God  in  considera 
tion  of  his  bounty  towards  them,  but  have  driven  them 
the  further  from  him,  that  they  are  ready  to  say,  We 
are  lords;  we  will  come  no  more  at  thee.  If  outward 
blessings  be  not  as  wings  to  help  us  mount  upwards 
they  will  certainly  prove  clogs  and  weights  that  will 
pull  us  lower  downward. 

All  the  comforts  of  this  life  may  be  compared  to  the 


Meditations  Divine  and  Moral  309 

gourd  of  Jonah,  that  notwithstanding  we  take  great  de 
light  for  a  season  in  them,  and  find  their  shadow  very 
comfortable,  yet  there  is  some  worm  or  other  of  dis 
content,  of  fear,  or  grief  that  lies  at  the  root,  which 
in  great  part  withers  the  pleasure  which  else  we  should 
take  in  them;  and  well  it  is  that  we  perceive  a  decay 
in  their  greenness,  for  were  earthly  comforts  perma 
nent,  who  would  look  for  heavenly  ? 

All  men  are  truly  said  to  be  tenants  at  will,  and  it 
may  as  truly  be  said  that  all  have  a  lease  of  their  lives, 
some  longer,  some  shorter,  as  it  pleases  our  great 
Landlord  to  let.  All  have  their  bounds  set,  over  which 
they  cannot  pass,  and  till  the  expiration  of  that  time 
no  dangers,  no  sickness,  no  pains,  or  troubles  shall 
put  a  period  to  our  days;  the  certainty  that  that  time 
will  come,  together  with  the  uncertainty  how,  where, 
and  when,  should  make  us  so  to  number  our  days  as  to 
apply  our  hearts  to  wisdom,  that  when  we  are  put  out 
of  these  houses  of  clay  we  may  be  sure  of  an  ever 
lasting  habitation  that  fades  not  away. 

All  weak  and  diseased  bodies  have  hourly  memen 
tos  of  their  mortality.  But  the  soundest  of  men  have 
likewise  their  nightly  monitor  by  the  emblem  of 
death,  which  is  their  sleep,  for  so  is  death  often  called; 
and  not  only  their  death,  but  their  grave  is  lively  rep 
resented  before  their  eyes  by  beholding  their  bed. 
The  morning  may  mind  them  of  the  Resurrection; 

2OA 


,s 


3 1  o        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

and  the  sun,  approaching,  of  the  appearing  of  the  Sun 
of  Righteousness,  at  whose  coming  they  shall  all  rise 
out  of  their  beds,  the  long  night  shall  flee  away,  and 
the  day  of  eternity  shall  never  end.  Seeing  these 
things  must  be,  what  manner  of  persons  ought  we  to 
be  in  all  good  conversation  ? 

As  the  brands  of  a  fire,  if  once  severed,  will  of 
themselves  go  out,  although  you  use  no  other  means 
to  extinguish  them,  so  distance  of  place,  together  with 
length  of  time,  if  there  be  no  intercourse,  will  cool  the 
affeftions  of  intimate  friends,  though  there  should  be 
no  displeasance  between  them. 

A  good  name  is  as  a  precious  ointment,  and  it  is  a 
great  favor  to  have  a  good  repute  among  good  men. 
Yet  it  is  not  that  which  commends  us  to  God,  for  by 
his  balance  we  must  be  weighed,  and  by  his  judgment 
we  must  be  tried;  and  as  he  passes  the  sentence,  so 
hall  we  stand. 


Well  doth  the  apostle  call  riches  deceitful  riches, 
and  they  may  truly  be  compared  to  deceitful  friends 
who  speak  fair  and  promise  much,  but  perform  noth 
ing,  and  so  leave  those  in  the  lurch  that  most  relied  on 
them.  So  is  it  with  the  wealth,  honors,  and  pleasures 
of  this  world,  which  miserably  delude  men  and  make 
them  put  great  confidence  in  them;  but  when  death 
threatens,  and  distress  lays  hold  upon  them,  they  prove 
like  the  reeds  of  Egypt  that  pierce  instead  of  support- 


Meditations  Divine  and  Moral  3 1 1 

ing,  like  empty  wells  in  the  time  of  drought,  that 
those  that  go  to  find  water  in  them  return  with  their 
empty  pitchers  ashamed. 

It  is  admirable  to  consider  the  power  of  faith,  by 
which  all  things  are  almost  possible  to  be  done.  It 
can  remove  mountains,  if  need  were;  it  hath  stayed  the 
course  of  the  sun,  raised  the  dead,  cast  out  devils,  re 
versed  the  order  of  nature,  quenched  the  violence  of  the 
fire,  made  the  water  become  firm  footing  for  Peter  to 
walk  on.  Nay,  more  than  all  these,  it  hath  overcome 
the  Omnipotent  himself,  as,  when  Moses  interceded  for 
the  people,  God  said  to  him,  "Let  me  alone  that  I 
may  destroy  them ! ' ' — as  if  Moses  had  been  able,  by  the 
hand  of  faith,  to  hold  the  everlasting  arms  of  the  mighty 
God  of  Jacob.  Yea,  Jacob  himself,  when  he  wrestled 
with  God  face  to  face  in  Peniel,  "Let  me  go,"  said 
that  angel.  "I  will  not  let  thee  go,"  replied  Jacob, 
"till  thou  bless  me!"  Faith  is  not  only  thus  potent, 
but  it  is  so  necessary  that  without  faith  there  is  no  sal 
vation;  therefore,  with  all  our  seekings  and  gettings, 
let  us  above  all  seek  to  obtain  this  pearl  of  price. 

Some  Christians  do  by  their  lusts  and  corruptions 
as  the  Israelites  did  by  the  Canaanites,  not  destroy 
them,  but  put  them  under  tribute;  for  that  they  could 
do,  as  they  thought,  with  less  hazard  and  more  profit. 
But  what  was  the  issue  ?  They  became  a  snare  unto 
them,  pricks  in  their  eyes  and  thorns  in  their  sides, 


3 1 2       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

and  at  last  overcame  them  and  kept  them  under  slavery. 
So  it  is  most  certain  that  those  that  are  disobedient 
to  the  command  of  God,  and  endeavor  not  to  the 
utmost  to  drive  out  all  their  accursed  inmates,  but 
make  a  league  with  them,  they  shall  at  last  fall  into 
perpetual  bondage  under  them  unless  the  great  deliv 
erer,  Christ  Jesus,  come  to  their  rescue. 

God  hath  by  his  providence  so  ordered  that  no  one 
country  hath  all  commodities  within  itself,  but  what 
it  wants  another  shall  supply,  that  so  there  may  be  a 
mutual  commerce  through  the  world.  As  it  is  with 
countries  so  it  is  with  men:  there  was  never  yet  any 
one  man  that  had  all  excellences;  let  his  parts,  natural 
and  acquired,  spiritual  and  moral,  be  never  so  large, 
yet  he  stands  in  need  of  something  which  another  man 
hath,  perhaps  meaner  than  himself,  which  shows  us 
perfection  is  not  below,  as  also  that  God  will  have 
us  beholden  one  to  another. 

["My  honored  and  dear  mother  intended  to  have 
filled  up  this  book  with  the  like  observations,  but  was 
prevented  by  death." — Note  by  Simon  Bradstreet, Jr.] 

[The  matter  on  the  succeeding  pages  was  at  a  later 
date  copied  into  the  same  journal  by  her  son  Simon, 
with  this  note:  "A  true  copy  of  a  book  left  by  my 
honored  and  dear  mother  to  her  children,  and  found 
among  some  papers  after  her  death."] 


mwffflnV 

. -x. ;.-.;../. ,3  ^  v"w 

m?&£t  SlllSiii  Ir ' 


TO    MY   DEAR    CHILDREN. 

This  book,  by  any  yet  unread, 
I  leave  for  you  when  I  am  dead, 
That,  being  gone,  here  you  may  find 
What  was  your  living  mother's  mind. 
Make  use  of  what  I  leave  in  love, 
And  God  shall  bless  you  from  above. 

A.  B. 
MY  DEAR  CHILDREN: 

I,  knowing  by  experience  that  the  exhortations  of 
parents  take  most  effecl  when  the  speakers  leave  to 
speak,  and  those  especially  sink  deepest  which  are 
spoke  latest,  and  being  ignorant  whether  on  my 
death-bed  I  shall  have  opportunity  to  speak  to  any  of 
you,  much  less  to  all,  thought  it  the  best,  whilst  I 
was  able,  to  compose  some  short  matters  (for  what 
else  to  call  them  I  know  not)  and  bequeath  to  you, 
that  when  I  am  no  more  with  you  yet  I  may  be 
daily  in  your  remembrance  —  although  that  is  the  least 
in  my  aim  in  what  I  now  do,  but  that  you  may  gain 
some  spiritual  advantage  by  my  experience.  I  have 

3«3 


3 1 4       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

not  studied  in  this  you  read  to  show  my  skill,  but  to 
declare  the  truth ;  not  to  set  forth  myself,  but  the 
glory  of  God.  If  I  had  minded  the  former,  it  had 
been  perhaps  better  pleasing  to  you  ;  but  seeing  the 
last  is  the  best,  let  it  be  best  pleasing  to  you.  f 

The  method  I  will  observe  shall  be  thisT^will  be 
gin  with  God's  dealing  with  me  from  my  childhood 
to  this  day.  In  my  young  years,  about  six  or  seven 
as  I  take  it,  I  began  to  make  conscience  of  my  ways, 
and  what  I  knew  was  sinful  —  as  lying,  disobedience  to 
parents,  etc. — I  avoided  it.  If  at  any  time  I  was  over 
taken  with  the  like  evils,  it  was  a  great  trouble.  I 
could  not  be  at  rest  till  by  prayer  I  had  confessed  it 
unto  God.  I  was  also  troubled  at  the  neglecl  of  pri 
vate  duties,  though  too  often  tardy  that  way.  I  also 
found  much  comfort  in  reading  the  Scriptures,  espe 
cially  those  places  I  thought  most  concerned  my  con 
dition;  and  as  I  grew  to  have  more  understanding,  so 
the,  more  solace  I  took  in  them. 

/  In  a  long  fit  of  sickness  which  I  had  on  my  bed  I 
often  communed  with  my  heart,  and  made  my  sup 
plication  to  the  Most  High,  who  set  me  free  from  that 
affliftion. 

But  as  I  grew  up  to  be  about  fourteen  or  fifteen  I 
found  my  heart  more  carnal,  and,  sitting  loose  from 
God,  vanity  and  the  follies  of  youth  take  hold  of  me. 

About  sixteen  the  Lord  laid  his  hand  sore  upon  me 
and  smote  me  with  the  small-pox.  When  I  was  in 


To  My  Dear  Children  315 

my  affliction,  I  besought  the  Lord,  and  confessed  my 
pride  and  vanity,  and  he  was  entreated  of  me  and 
again  restored  me.  But  I  rendered  not  to  him  accord 
ing  to  the  benefit  received. 

After  a  short  time  I  changed  my  condition  and  was 
married,  and  came  into  this  country,  where  I  found  a 
new  world  and  new  manners,  at  which  my  heart  rose. 
But  after  I  was  convinced  it  was  the  way  of  God,  I 
submitted  to  it  and  joined  to  the  church  at  Boston.} 

After  some  time  I  fell  into  a  lingering  sickness  like 
a  consumption,  together  with  a  lameness,  which  cor- 
reftion  I  saw  the  Lord  sent  to  humble  and  try  me  and 
do  me  good;  and  it  was  not  altogether  ineffectual. 
/"It  pleased  God  to  keep  me  a  long  time  without  a 
'child,  which  was  a  great  grief  to  me,  and  cost  me 
many  prayers  and  tears  before  I  obtained  one;  and 
after  him  gave  me  many  more,  of  whom  I  now  take 
the  care,  that  as  I  have  brought  you  into  the  world, 
and  with  great  pains,  weakness,  cares,  and  fears 
brought  you  to  this,  I  now  travail  in  birth  again  of 
you  till  Christ  be  formed  in  you. 

Among  all  my  experiences  of  God's  gracious  deal 
ings  with  me  I  have  constantly  observed  this,  that  he 
hath  never  suffered  me  long  to  sit  loose  from  him,  but 
by  one  affliction  or  other  hath  made  me  look  home, 
and  search  .what  was  amiss;  so  usually  thus  it  hath 
been  with  me  that  I  have  no  sooner  felt  my  heart  out 
of  order  but  I  have  expefted  correction  for  it,  which 


3 1 6       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

most  commonly  hath  been  upon  my  own  person  in 
sickness,  weakness,  pains,  sometimes  on  my  soul  in 
doubts  and  fears  of  God's  displeasure  and  my  sin 
cerity  towards  him.  Sometimes  he  hath  smote  a  child 
with  sickness,  sometimes  chastened  by  losses  in  estate; 
and  these  times,  through  his  great  mercy,  have  been 
the  times  of  my  greatest  getting  and  advantage  —  yea,  I 
have  found  them  the  times  when  the  Lord  hath  mani 
fested  the  most  love  to  me.  Then  have  I  gone  to 
searching,  and  have  said  with  David,  "  Lord,  search  me 
and  try  me,  see  what  ways  of  wickedness  are  in  me, 
and  lead  me  in  the  way  everlasting."  And  seldom  or 
never  but  I  have  found  either  some  sin  I  lay  under 
which  God  would  have  reformed,  or  some  duty  ne- 
glefted  which  he  would  have  performed.  And  by 
his  help  I  have  laid  vows  and  bonds  upon  my  soul  to 
perform  his  righteous  commands. 

If  at  any  time  you  are  chastened  of  God,  take  it  as 
thankfully  and  joyfully  as  in  greatest  mercies;  for  if  ye 
be  his  ye  shall  reap  the  greatest  benefit  by  it.  It 
hath  been  no  small  support  to  me  in  times  of  dark 
ness  when  the  Almighty  hath  hid  his  face  from  me 
that  yet  I  have  had  abundance  of  sweetness  and  re 
freshment  after  affliftion,  and  more  circumspection  in 
my  walking  after  I  have  been  afflicted.  I  have  been 
with  God  like  an  untoward  child,  that  no  longer  than 
the  rod  has  been  on  my  back,  or  at  least  in  sight,  but 
I  have  been  apt  to  forget  him  and  myself  too.  "  Before 


To  My  Dear  Children  317 

I  was  afflicted  I  went  astray,  but  now  I  keep  thy 
statutes." 

I  have  had  great  experience  of  God's  hearing  my 
prayers  and  returning  comfortable  answers  to  me, 
either  in  granting  the  thing  I  prayed  for  or  else  in 
satisfying  my  mind  without  it;  and  I  have  been  con 
fident  it  hath  been  from  him,  because  I  have  found 
my  heart  through  his  goodness  enlarged  in  thankful 
ness  to  him. 

I  have  often  been  perplexed  that  I  have  not  found 
that  constant  joy  in  my  pilgrimage  and  refreshing 
which  I  supposed  most  of  the  servants  of  God  have; 
although  he  hath  not  left  me  altogether  without  the 
witness  of  his  Holy  Spirit,  who  hath  oft  given  me  his 
word  and  set  to  his  seal  that  it  shall  be  well  with  me. 
I  have  sometimes  tasted  of  that  hidden  manna  that  the 
world  knows  not,  and  have  set  up  my  Ebenezer,  and 
have  resolved  with  myself  that  against  such  a  promise, 
such  tastes  of  sweetness,  the  gates  of  hell  shall  never 
prevail.  Yet  have  I  many  times  sinkings  and  droop- 
ings,  and  not  enjoyed  that  felicity  that  sometimes  I 
have  done.  But  when  I  have  been  in  darkness,  and 
seen  no  light,  yet  have  I  desired  to  stay  myself  upon 
the  Lord. 

And  when  I  have  been  in  sickness  and  pain  I 
have  thought  if  the  Lord  would  but  lift  up  the  light 
of  his  countenance  upon  me,  although  he  ground  me 
to  powder  it  would  be  but  light  to  me;  yea,  oft  have 


3 1 8        Tbe  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

I  thought,  were  it  hell  itself,  and  could  there  find  the 
love  of  God  toward  me,  it  would  be  a  heaven.  And 
could  I  have  been  in  heaven  without  the  love  of  God, 
it  would  have  been  a  hell  to  me;  for,  in  truth,  it  is 
the  absence  and  presence  of  God  that  makes  heaven 
or  hell. 

Many  times  hath  Satan  troubled  me  concerning  the 
verity  of  the  Scriptures;  many  times  by  atheism  how 
I  could  know  whether  there  was  a  God.  I  never  saw 
any  miracles  to  confirm  me,  and  those  which  I  read 
of  how  did  I  know  but  they  were  feigned  ?  That 
there  is  a  God  my  reason  would  soon  tell  me  by  the 
wondrous  works  that  I  see  —  the  vast  frame  of  the 
heaven  and  the  earth,  the  order  of  all  things,  night 
and  day,  summer  and  winter,  spring  and  autumn,  the 
daily  providing  for  this  great  household  upon  the 
earth,  the  preserving  and  directing  of  all  to  its  proper 
end.  The  consideration  of  these  things  would  with 
amazement  certainly  resolve  me  that  there  is  an  Eter 
nal  Being. 

But  how  should  I  know  he  is  such  a  God  as  I  wor 
ship  in  Trinity,  and  such  a  Saviour  as  I  rely  upon  ? 
Though  this  hath  thousands  of  times  been  suggested 
to  me,  yet  God  hath  helped  .me  over.  I  have  argued 
thus  with  myself:  That  there  is  a  God  I  see.  If 
ever  this  God  hath  revealed  himself,  it  must  be  in  his 
Word,  and  this  must  be  it  or  none.  Have  I  not  found 
that  operation  by  it  that  no  human  invention  can 


To  My  Dear  Children  319 

work  upon  the  soul  ?  Have  not  judgments  befallen 
divers  who  have  scorned  and  contemned  it  ?  Hath  it 
not  been  preserved  through  all  ages  maugre  all  the 
heathen  tyrants  and  all  of  the  enemies  who  have 
opposed  it  ?  Is  there  any  story  but  that  which  shows 
the  beginnings  of  time,  and  how  the  world  came  to 
be  as  we  see  ?  Do  we  not  know  the  prophecies  in  it 
fulfilled  which  could  not  have  been  so  long  foretold 
by  any  but  God  himself? 

When  I  have  got  over  this  block  then  have  I  an 
other  put  in  my  way,  that,  admit  this  be  the  true  God 
whom  we  worship,  and  that  be  his  Word,  yet  why  may 
not  the  popish  religion  be  the  right  ?  They  have  the 
same  God,  the  same  Christ,  the  same  Word;  they  only 
interpret  it  one  way,  we  another.  This  hath  some 
times  stuck  with  me,  and  more  it  would  but  the  vain 
fooleries  that  are  in  their  religion,  together  with  their 
lying  miracles  and  cruel  persecutions  of  the  saints, 
which  admit  were  they  as  they  term  them,  yet  not 
so  to  be  dealt  withal.  The  consideration  of 
things  and  many  the  like  would  soon  turn  me 
own  religion  again. 

But  some  new  troubles  I  have  had  since  the  world 
has  been  filled  with  blasphemy  and  sectaries,  and 
some  who  have  been  accounted  sincere  Christians 
have  been  carried  away  with  them,  that  sometimes  I 
have  said,  Is  there  faith  upon  the  earth  ?  and  I  have 
not  known  what  to  think.  But  then  I  have  remem- 


v_L     uw* 

f  these  / 
to  my/ 


3  zo        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

bered  the  words  of  Christ  that  so  it  must  be,  and  that, 
if  it  were  possible,  the  very  eleft  should  be  deceived. 
"Behold,"  saith  our  Saviour,  "I  have  told  you  before." 
That  hath  stayed  my  heart,  and  I  can  now  say,  "  Re 
turn,  O  my  soul,  to  thy  rest.  Upon  this  rock  Christ 
Jesus  will  I  build  my  faith;  and  if  I  perish,  I  perish." 
But  I  know  all  the  powers  of  hell  shall  never  prevail 
against  it.  I  know  whom  I  have  trusted,  and  whom 
I  have  believed,  and  that  he  is  able  to  keep  that  I 
have  committed  to  his  charge. 

Now  to  the  King  immortal,  eternal,  and  invisible, 
the  only  wise  God,  be  honor  and  glory  for  ever  and 
ever !  Amen. 

This  was  written  in  much  sickness  and  weakness,  and 
is  very  weakly  and  imperfectly  done;  but  if  you  can  pick 
any  benefit  out  of  it,  it  is  the  mark  which  I  aimed  at. 

HERE  FOLLOW  SEVERAL   OCCASIONAL 
MEDITATIONS. 

By  night,  when  others  soundly  slept 
And  had  at  once  both  ease  and  rest, 

My  waking  eyes  were  open  kept, 
And  so  to  lie  I  found  it  best. 

I  sought  him  whom  my  soul  did  love; 

With  tears  I  sought  him  earnestly; 
He  bowed  his  ear  down  from  above. 

In  vain  I  did  not  seek  or  cry. 


Occasional  Meditations 


321 


My  hungry  soul  he  filled  with  good; 

He  in  his  bottle  put  my  tears; 
My  smarting  wounds  washed  in  his  blood, 

And  banished  thence  my  doubts  and  fears. 

What  to  my  Saviour  shall  I  give 
Who  freely  hath  done  this  for  me? 

I  '11  serve  him  here  whilst  I  shall  live, 
And  love  him  to  eternity. 

FOR  DELIVERANCE  FROM  A  FEVER. 

When  sorrows  had  begirt  me  round, 

And  pains  within  and  out, 
When  in  my  flesh  no  part  was  found, 

Then  didst  thou  rid  me  out. 

My  burning  flesh  in  sweat  did  boil, 

My  aching  head  did  break; 
From  side  to  side  for  ease  I  toil, 

So  faint  I  could  not  speak. 

Beclouded  was  my  soul  with  fear 

Of  thy  displeasure  sore, 
Nor  could  I  read  my  evidence 

Which  oft  I  read  before. 

"Hide  not  thy  face  from  me,"  I  cried; 
"From  burnings  keep  my  soul. 
Thou  knowest  my  heart,  and  hast  me  tried; 
I  on  thy  mercies  roll." 

21 


322       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

"Oh,  heal  my  soul,"  thou  knowest  I  said, 
"Though  flesh  consume  to  naught. 
What  though  in  dust  it  shall  be  laid? 
To  glory  it  shall  be  brought. " 

Thou  heardest,  thy  rod  thou  didst  remove, 

And  spared  my  body  frail; 
Thou  showedst  to  me  thy  tender  love, 

My  heart  no  more  might  quail. 

Oh,  praises  to  my  mighty  God! 

Praise  to  my  Lord,  I  say, 
Who  hath  redeemed  my  soul  from  pit. 

Praises  to  him  for  aye! 

FROM  ANOTHER  SORE  FIT. 

In  my  distress  I  sought  the  Lord, 

When  naught  on  earth  could  comfort  give; 

And  when  my  soul  these  things  abhorred, 
Then,  Lord,  thou  saidst  unto  me,  Live. 

Thou  knowest  the  sorrows  that  I  felt, 

My  plaints  and  groans  were  heard  of  thee, 

And  how  in  sweat  I  seemed  to  melt; 
Thou  helpedst  and  thou  regardedst  me. 

My  wasted  flesh  thou  didst  restore, 

My  feeble  loins  didst  gird  with  strength; 

Yea,  when  I  was  most  low  and  poor 
I  said,  "I  shall  praise  thee  at  length." 


Occasional  Meditations  323 

What  shall  I  render  to  my  God 

For  all  his  bounty  showed  to  me  — 

E'en  for  his  mercies  in  his  rod, 
Where  pity  most  of  all  I  see? 

My  heart  I  wholly  give  to  thee; 

Oh,  make  it  fruitful,  faithful,  Lord! 
My  life  shall  dedicated  be 

To  praise  in  thought,  in  deed,  in  word. 

Thou  knowest  no  life  I  did  require 
Longer  than  still  thy  name  to  praise, 

Nor  aught  on  earth  worthy  desire 
In  drawing  out  these  wretched  days. 

Thy  name  and  praise  to  celebrate, 
O  Lord,  for  aye  is  my  request. 

Oh,  grant  I  do  it  in  this  state, 

And  then  with  thee,  which  is  the  best. 

DELIVERANCE  FROM  A  FIT  OF  FAINTING. 

Worthy  art  thou,  O  Lord  of  praise ! 

But,  ah!  it  's  not  in  me; 
My  sinking  heart  I  pray  thee  raise, 

So  shall  I  give  it  thee. 

"My  life  as  spider's  web  's  cut  off!'' 

Thus,  fainting,  have  I  said; 
"And  living  man  no  more  shall  see, 

But  be  in  silence  laid." 


3  24       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

My  feeble  spirit  thou  didst  revive, 
My  doubting  thou  didst  chide; 

And  though  as  dead,  madest  me  alive, 
I  here  a  while  might  abide. 

Why  should  I  live  but  to  thy  praise? 

My  life  is  hid  with  thee. 
O  Lord,  no  longer  be  my  days 

Than  I  may  fruitful  be. 

MEDITATIONS  WHEN  MY  SOUL  HATH 
BEEN  REFRESHED  WITH  THE  CONSO 
LATIONS  WHICH  THE  WORLD  KNOWS 
NOT. 

Lord,  why  should  I  doubt  any  more  when  thou 
hast  given  me  such  assured  pledges  of  thy  love?  First, 
thou  art  my  Creator,  I  thy  creature;  thou  my  Master, 
I  thy  servant.  But  hence  arises  not  my  comfort. 
Thou  art  my  Father,  I  thy  child:  "Ye  shall  be  my 
sons  and  daughters,"  saith  the  Lord  Almighty.  Christ 
is  my  brother:  "I  ascend  unto  my  father  and  your 
father,  unto  my  God  and  your  God."  But  lest  this 
should  not  be  enough,  "Thy  maker  is  thy  husband." 
Nay,  more,  "I  am  a  member  of  his  body;  he,  my 
head."  Such  privileges,  had  not  the  word  of  truth 
made  them  known,  who  or  where  is  the  man  that 
durst  in  his  heart  have  presumed  to  have  thought  it  ? 
So  wonderful  are  these  thoughts  that  my  spirit  fails 


Occasional  Meditations  325 

in  me  at  the  consideration  thereof;  and  I  am  con 
founded  to  think  that  God,  who  hath  done  so  much 
for  me,  should  have  so  little  from  me.  But  this  is 
my  comfort:  when  I  come  into  Heaven,  I  shall  un 
derstand  perfectly  what  he  hath  done  for  me,  and 
then  shall  I  be  able  to  praise  him  as  I  ought.  Lord, 
having  this  hope,  let  me  purify  myself  as  thou  art 
pure,  and  let  me  be  no  more  afraid  of  death,  but  even 
desire  to  be  dissolved  and  be  with  thee,  which  is  best 
of  all. 

July  8,  1656. 

I  had  a  sore  fit  of  fainting,  which  lasted  two  or 
three  days,  but  not  in  that  extremity  which  at  first  it 
took  me;  and  so  much  the  sorer  it  was  to  me  because 
my  dear  husband  was  from  home,  who  is  my  chiefest 
comforter  on  earth.  But  my  God,  who  never  failed 
me,  was  not  absent,  but  helped  me,  and  graciously 
manifested  his  love  to  me,  which  I  dare  not  pass  by 
without  remembrance,  that  it  may  be  a  support  to 
me  when  I  shall  have  occasion  to  read  this  hereafter, 
and  to  others  that  shall  read  it  when  I  shall  possess 
that  I  now  hope  for,  that  so  they  may  be  encou 
raged  to  trust  in  him  who  is  the  only  portion  of  his 
servants. 

O  Lord,  let  me  never  forget  thy  goodness,  nor 
question  thy  faithfulness  to  me;  for  thou  art  my  God. 
Thou  hast  said,  and  shall  not  I  believe  it  ? 

2IA 


326       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Thou  hast  given  me  a  pledge  of  that  inheritance 
thou  hast  promised  to  bestow  upon  me.  Oh,  never  let 
Satan  prevail  against  me,  but  strengthen  my  faith  in 
thee  till  I  shall  attain  the  end  of  my  hopes,  even 
the  salvation  of  my  soul.  Come,  Lord  Jesus;  come 
quickly. 


What  God  is  like  to  him  I  serve  ? 

What  Saviour  like  to  mine? 
Oh,  never  let  me  from  thee  swerve, 

For  truly  I  am  thine. 

My  thankful  mouth  shall  speak  thy  praise. 

My  tongue  shall  talk  of  thee; 
On  high  my  heart  oh  do  thou  raise, 

For  what  thou  hast  done  for  me. 

Go,  worldlings,  to  your  vanities, 

And  heathen  to  your  gods; 
Let  them  help  in  adversities, 

And  sanctify  their  rods. 

My  God  he  is  not  like  to  yours, 

Yourselves  shall  judges  be; 
I  find  his  love,  I  know  his  power, 

A  succorer  of  me. 

He  is  not  man  that  he  should  lie, 
Nor  son  of  man  to  unsay; 


Occasional  Meditations  327 

His  word  he  plighted  hath  on  high, 
And  I  shall  live  for  aye. 

And  for  his  sake  that  faithful  is, 

That  died  but  now  doth  live, 
The  first  and  last,  that  lives  for  aye, 

Me  lasting  life  shall  give. 


My  soul,  rejoice  thou  in  thy  God; 

Boast  of  him  all  the  day; 
Walk  in  his  law,  and  kiss  his  rod; 

Cleave  close  to  him  alway. 

What  though  thy  outward  man  decay, 
Thy  inward  shall  wax  strong; 

Thy  body  vile  it  shall  be  changed, 
And  glorious  made  ere  long. 

With  angel's  wings  thy  soul  shall  mount 

To  bliss  unseen  by  eye, 
And  drink  at  unexhausted  fount 

Of  joy  unto  eternity. 

Thy  tears  shall  all  be  dried  up, 

Thy  sorrows  all  shall  flee; 
Thy  sins  shall  ne'er  be  summoned  up, 

Nor  come  in  memory. 

Then  shall  I  know  what  thou  hast  done 
For  me,  unworthy  me, 


328       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

And  praise  thee  shall  e'en  as  I  ought 
For  wonders  that  I  see. 

Base  world,  I  trample  on  thy  face; 

Thy  glory  I  despise; 
No  gain  I  find  in  aught  below, 

For  God  hath  made  me  wise. 

Come,  Jesus,  quickly!      Blessed  Lord, 
Thy  face  when  shall  I  see  ? 

Oh,  let  me  count  each  hour  a  day 
Till  I  dissolved  be. 


August  28,  1656. 

After  much  weakness  and  sickness,  when  my  spirits 
were  worn  out,  and  many  times  my  faith  weak  like 
wise,  the  Lord  was  pleased  to  uphold  my  drooping 
heart,  and  to  manifest  his  love  to  me.  And  this  is  that 
which  stays  my  soul  that  this  condition  that  I  am  in 
is  the  best  for  me,  for  God  doth  not  afflict  willingly, 
nor  take  delight  in  grieving  the  children  of  men.  He 
hath  no  benefit  by  my  adversity,  nor  is  he  the  better 
for  my  prosperity;  but  he  doth  it  for  my  advantage, 
and  that  I  may  be  a  gainer  by  it.  And  if  he  knows 
that  weakness  and  a  frail  body  is  the  best  to  make  me 
a  vessel  fit  for  his  use,  why  should  I  not  bear  it,  not 
only  willingly  but  joyfully?  The  Lord  knows  I 
dare  not  desire  that  health  that  sometimes  I  have  had, 


Occasional  Meditations  329 

lest   my   heart   should   be  drawn  from  him,  and  set 
upon  the  world. 

Now  I  can  wait,  looking  every  day  when  my  Sa 
viour  shall  call  for  me.  Lord,  grant  that  while  I  live 
I  may  do  that  service  I  am  able  in  this  frail  body, 
and  be  in  continual  expectation  of  my  change.  And 
let  me  never  forget  thy  great  love  to  my  soul  so  late 
ly  expressed,  when  I  could  lie  down  and  bequeath 
my  soul  to  thee,  and  death  seemed  no  terrible  thing. 
Oh,  let  me  ever  see  thee  that  art  invisible,  and  I  shall 
not  be  unwilling  to  come,  though  by  so  rough  a 
messenger. 


ii,  ids?-  _ 

j  I  had  a  sore  sickness,  and  weakness  took  hold  of  me, 
Which  hath  by  fits  lasted  all  this  spring  till  this  nth 
May.  Yet  hath  my  God  given  me  many  a  respite, 
^nd  some  ability  to  perform  the  duties  I  owe  to  hira^. 
jind  the  work  of  my  family. 

Many  a  refreshment  have  I  found  in  this  my  weary 
pilgrimage,  and  in  this  valley  of  Baca  many  pools  of 
water.  That  which  now  I  chiefly  labor  for  is  a  con 
tented,  thankful  heart  under  my  affliction  and  weak 
ness,  seeing  it  is  the  will  of  God  it  should  be  thus. 
Who  am  I  that  I  should  repine  at  his  pleasure,  espe 
cially  seeing  it  is  for  my  spiritual  advantage  ?  For  I 
hope  my  soul  shall  flourish  while  my  body  decays,  and 


330       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

the  weakness  of  this  outward  man  shall  be  a  means 
to  strengthen  my  inner  man. 

"  Yet  a  little  while,  and  he  that  shall  come  will 
come,  and  will  not  tarry." 

May  13,  1637. 

As  spring  the  winter  doth  succeed, 
And  leaves  the  naked  trees  do  dress, 

The  earth  all  black  is  clothed  in  green, 
At  sunshine  each  their  joy  express. 

My  sun  *s  returned  with  healing  wings, 

My  soul  and  body  do  rejoice; 
My  heart  exults,  and  praises  sings 

To  him  that  heard  my  wailing  voice. 

My  winter  Js  past,  my  storms  are  gone, 
And  former  clouds  seem  now  all  fled; 

But  if  they  must  eclipse  again 
I  '11  run  where  I  was  succored. 

I  have  a  shelter  from  the  storm, 
A  shadow  from  the  fainting  heat; 

I  have  access  unto  his  throne 

Who  is  a  God  so  wondrous  great. 

Oh,  thou  hast  made  my  pilgrimage 
Thus  pleasant,  fair,  and  good; 

Blessed  me  in  youth  and  elder  age; 
My  Baca  made  a  springing  flood. 


Occasional  Meditations  331 

I  studious  am  what  I  shall  do 
To  show  my  duty  with  delight; 

All  I  can  give  is  but  thine  own, 
And  at  the  most  a  simple  mite. 

September  30,  1657. 

It  pleased  God  to  visit  me  with  my  old  distemper 
of  weakness  and  fainting,  but  not  in  that  sore  manner 
sometimes  he  hath.  I  desire  not  only  willingly,  but 
thankfully,  to  submit  to  him,  for  I  trust  it  is  out  of 
his  abundant  love  to  my  straying  soul  which  in  pros 
perity  is  too  much  in  love  with  the  world.  I  have 
found  by  experience  I  can  no  more  live  without  cor 
rection  than  without  food.  Lord,  with  thy  correc 
tion  give  instruction  and  amendment,  and  then  thy 
strokes  shall  be  welcome.  I  have  not  been  refined  in 
the  furnace  of  affliction  as  some  have  been,  but  have 
rather  been  preserved  with  sugar  than  brine;  yet  will 
he  preserve  me  to  his  heavenly  kingdom. 

Thus,  dear  children,  have  ye  seen  the  many  sick 
nesses  and  weaknesses  that  I  have  passed  through  to 
the  end  that,  if  you  meet  with  the  like,  you  may  have 
recourse  to  the  same  God  who  hath  heard  and  de 
livered  me,  and  will  do  the  like  for  you  if  you  trust 
in  him.  And  when  he  shall  deliver  you  out  of  dis 
tress,  forget  not  to  give  him  thanks,  but  walk  more 
closely  with  him  than  before.  This  is  the  desire  of 
your  loving  mother,  A.  B. 


332        Tbe  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

UPON  MY  SON  SAMUEL  HIS  GOING  FOR 

ENGLAND,  NOVEMBER  6,  1657. 
Thou  mighty  God  of  sea  and  land, 
I  here  resign  into  thy  hand 
The  son  of  prayers,  of  vows,  of  tears, 
The  child  I  stayed  for  many  years. 
Thou  heardest  me  then,  and  gavest  him  me; 
Hear  me  again:  I  give  him  thee. 
He  's  mine,  but  more,  O  Lord,  thine  own, 
For  sure  thy  grace  on  him  is  shown. 
No  friend  I  have  like  thee  to  trust, 
For  mortal  helps  are  brittle  dust. 
Preserve,  O  Lord,  from  storms  and  wreck, 
Protect  him  there,  and  bring  him  back; 
And  if  thou  shalt  spare  me  a  space, 
That  I  again  may  see  his  face, 
Then  shall  I  celebrate  thy  praise, 
And  bless  thee  for  it  all  my  days. 
If  otherwise  I  go  to  rest, 
Thy  will  be  done,  for  that  is  best; 
Persuade  my  heart  I  shall  him  see 
For  ever  happified  with  thee. 

May  ii  y  1661. 

It  hath  pleased  God  to  give  me  a  long  time  of  res 
pite  for  these  four  years  that  I  have  had  no  great  fit  of 
sickness;  but  this  year,  from  the  middle  of  January 


Occasional  Meditations  333 

till  May,  I  have  been  by  fits  very  ill  and  weak.  The 
first  of  this  month  I  had  a  fever  seated  upon  me  which 
indeed  was  the  longest  and  sorest  that  ever  I  had, 
lasting  four  days;  and  the  weather  being  very  hot 
made  it  the  more  tedious.  But  it  pleased  the  Lord  to 
support  my  heart  in  his  goodness,  and  to  hear  my 
prayers,  and  to  deliver  me  out  of  adversity.  But, 
alas!  I  cannot  render  unto  the  Lord  according  to  all 
his  lovingkindness,  nor  take  the  cup  of  salvation  with 
thanksgiving  as  I  ought  to  do.  Lord,  thou  that 
knowest  all  things  knowest  that  I  desire  to  testify  my 
thankfulness  not  only  in  word  but  in  deed,  that  my 
conversation  may  speak  that  thy  vows  are  upon  me. 


My  thankful  heart  with  glorying  tongue 

Shall  celebrate  thy  name 
Who  hath  restored,  redeemed,  recured, 

From  sickness,  death,  and  pain. 

I  cried,  "Thou  seemest  to  make  some  stay!" 

I  sought  more  earnestly; 
And  in  due  time  thou  succoredst  me, 

And  sentest  me  help  from  high. 

Lord,  whilst  my  fleeting  time  shall  last 

Thy  goodness  let  me  tell, 
And  new  experience  I  have  gained 

My  future  doubts  repel. 


334       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Eradstreet 

An  humble,  faithful  life,  O  Lord, 

For  ever  let  me  walk; 
Let  my  obedience  testify 

My  praise  lies  not  in  talk. 

Accept,  O  Lord,  my  simple  mite, 

For  more  I  cannot  give; 
What  thou  bestowest  I  shall  restore, 

For  of  thine  alms  I  live. 

FOR  THE  RESTORATION  OF  MY  DEAR 
HUSBAND  FROM  A  BURNING  AGUE, 
JUNE,  1661. 

When  fears  and  sorrows  me  beset, 

Then  didst  thou  rid  me  out; 
When  heart  did  faint  and  spirits  quail, 

Thou  comfortedst  me  about. 

Thou  raisedst  him  up  I  feared  to  lose, 

Regavest  me  him  again; 
Distempers  thou  didst  chase  away, 

With  strength  didst  him  sustain. 

My  thankful  heart,  with  pen  record 

The  goodness  of  thy  God; 
Let  thy  obedience  testify 

He  taught  thee  by  his  rod, 

And  with  his  staff  did  thee  support, 
That  thou  by  both  mayst  learn, 


Occasional  Meditations  335 

And  'twixt  the  good  and  evil  way 
At  last  thou  mightest  discern. 

Praises  to  him  who  hath  not  left 

My  soul  as  destitute, 
Nor  turned  his  ear  away  from  me, 

But  granted  hath  my  suit. 


UPON  MY  DAUGHTER  HANNAH 
WIGGIN  HER  RECOVERY  FROM 
A  DANGEROUS  FEVER. 

Blest  be  thy  name,  who  didst  restore 

To  health  my  daughter  dear 
When  death  did  seem  e'en  to  approach 

And  life  was  ended  near. 

Grant  she  remember  what  thou  hast  done, 

And  celebrate  thy  praise, 
And  let  her  conversation  say 

She  loves  thee  all  thy  days. 

ON    MY   SON'S   RETURN   OUT    OF 
ENGLAND,  JULY    17,    1661. 

All  praise  to  him  who  hath  now  turned 
My  fears  to  joys,  my  sighs  to  song, 

My  tears  to  smiles,  my  sad  to  glad: 
He  's  come  for  whom  I  waited  long. 


336       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Thou  didst  preserve  him  as  he  went, 
In  raging  storms  didst  safely  keep; 

Didst  that  ship  bring  to  quiet  port  — 
The  other  sank  low  in  the  deep. 

From  dangers  great  thou  didst  him  free 
Of  pirates  who  were  near  at  hand, 

And  orderedst  so  the  adverse  wind 
That  he  before  them  got  to  land. 

In  country  strange  thou  didst  provide, 
And  friends  raised  him  in  every  place, 

And  courtesies  of  sundry  sorts 

From  such  as  'fore  ne'er  saw  his  face. 

In  sickness  when  he  lay  full  sore, 
His  help  and  his  physician  wert; 

When  royal  ones  that  time  did  die, 

Thou  healedst  his  flesh,  and  cheered  his  heart. 

From  troubles  and  encumbers  thou 

Without  —  all  fraud  —  didst  set  him  free, 

That  without  scandal  he  might  come 
To  the  land  of  his  nativity; 

On  eagle's  wings  him  hither  brought 
Through  want  and  dangers  manifold, 

And  thus  hath  granted  my  request 
That  I  thy  mercies  might  behold. 

Oh,  help  me  pay  my  vows,  O  Lord! 
That  ever  I  may  thankful  be, 


Occasional  Meditations  337 

And  may  put  him  in  mind  of  what 
Thou  hast  done  for  him,  and  so  for  me. 

In  both  our  hearts  ereft  a  frame 
Of  duty  and  of  thankfulness, 
That  all  thy  favors  great  received 
Our  upright  walking  may  express. 

O  Lord,  grant  that  I  may  never  forget  thy  loving- 
kindness  in  this  particular,  and  how  graciously  thou 
hast  answered  my  desires. 


UPON  MY  DEAR  AND  LOVING  HUS 
BAND  HIS  GOING  INTO  ENGLAND, 
JANUARY  1 6,  1 66 1. 

O  thou  Most  High,  who  rulest  all, 
And  hearest  the  prayers  of  thine, 

Oh,  hearken,  Lord,  unto  my  suit, 
And  my  petition  sign. 

Into  thy  everlasting  arms 

Of  mercy  I  commend 
Thy  servant,  Lord;  keep  and  preserve 

My  husband,  my  dear  friend. 

At  thy  command,  O  Lord,  he  went, 
Nor  naught  could  keep  him  back. 

Then  let  thy  promise  joy  his  heart; 

Oh,  help,  and  be  not  slack. 
22 


338        The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Uphold  my  heart  in  thee,  O  God, 
Thou  art  my  strength  and  stay; 

Thou  seest  how  weak  and  frail  I  am, 
Hide  not  thy  face  away. 

I,  in  obedience  to  thy  will, 
Thou  knowest  did  submit; 

It  was  my  duty  so  to  do; 
O  Lord,  accept  of  it. 

Unthankfulness  for  mercies  past 

Impute  thou  not  to  me; 
O  Lord,  thou  knowest  my  weak  desire 

Was  to  sing  praise  to  thee. 

Lord,  be  thou  pilot  to  the  ship, 
And  send  them  prosperous  gales; 

In  storms  and  sickness,  Lord,  preserve  - 
Thy  goodness  never  fails. 

Unto  thy  work  he  hath  in  hand, 
Lord,  grant  thou  good  success 

And  favor  in  their  eyes  to  whom 
He  shall  make  his  address. 

Remember,  Lord,  thy  folk  whom  thou 
To  wilderness  hast  brought; 

Let  not  thine  own  inheritance 
Be  sold  away  for  naught, 

But  tokens  of  thy  favor  give  — 
With  joy  send  back  my  dear, 


Occasional  Meditations  339 

That  I,  and  all  thy  servants,  may 
Rejoice  with  heavenly  cheer. 

Lord,  let  my  eyes  see  once  again 

Him  whom  thou  gavest  me, 
That  we  together  may  sing  praise 

For  ever  unto  thee; 

And  the  remainder  of  our  days 

Shall  consecrated  be 
With  an  engaged  heart  to  sing 

All  praises  unto  thee. 

IN   MY  SOLITARY  HOURS   IN   MY   DEAR 
HUSBAND   HIS   ABSENCE. 

O  Lord,  thou  hearest  my  daily  moan, 

And  seest  my  dropping  tears; 
My  troubles  all  are  thee  before, 

My  longings  and  my  fears. 

Thou  hitherto  hast  been  my  God, 
Thy  help  my  soul  hath  found; 

Though  loss  and  sickness  me  assailed, 
Through  thee  I  've  kept  my  ground. 

And  thy  abode  thou  hast  made  with  me; 

With  thee  my  soul  can  talk 
In  secret  places,  thee  I  find 

Where  I  do  kneel  or  walk. 


340       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Though  husband  dear  be  from  me  gone, 

Whom  I  do  love  so  well, 
I  have  a  more  beloved  one 

Whose  comforts  far  excel. 

Oh,  stay  my  heart  on  thee,  my  God, 

Uphold  my  fainting  soul; 
And  when  I  know  not  what  to  do 

I  '11  on  thy  mercies  roll. 

My  weakness  thou  dost  know  full  well 

Of  body  and  of  mind; 
I  in  this  world  no  comfort  have 

But  what  from  thee  I  find. 

Though  children  thou  hast  given  me, 

And  friends  I  have  also, 
Yet  if  I  see  thee  not  through  them 

They  are  no  joy,  but  woe. 

Oh,  shine  upon  me,  blessed  Lord, 
E'en  for  my  Saviour's  sake; 

In  thee  alone  is  more  than  all, 
And  there  content  I  '11  take. 

Oh,  hear  me,  Lord,  in  this  request, 
As  thou  before  hast  done  — 

Bring  back  my  husband,  I  beseech, 
As  thou  didst  once  my  son. 

So  shall  I  celebrate  thy  praise 
E'en  while  my  days  shall  last, 


Occasional  Meditations  341 

And  talk  to  my  beloved  one 
Of  all  thy  goodness  past. 

So  both  of  us  thy  kindness,  Lord, 

With  praises  shall  recount, 
And  serve  thee  better  than  before 

Whose  blessings  thus  surmount. 

But  give  me,  Lord,  a  better  heart; 

Then  better  shall  I  be 
To  pay  the  vows  which  I  do  owe 

For  ever  unto  thee. 

Unless  thou  help,  what  can  I  do 

But  still  my  frailty  show? 
If  thou  assist  me,  Lord,  I  shall 

Return  thee  what  I  owe. 

IN  THANKFUL  ACKNOWLEDGMENT  FOR 
THE  LETTERS  I  RECEIVED  FROM  MY 
HUSBAND  OUT  OF  ENGLAND. 

O  thou  that  hearest  the  prayers  of  thine, 
And  'mongst  them  hast  regarded  mine, 
Hast  heard  my  cries,  and  seen  my  tears, 
Hast  known  my  doubts  and  all  my  fears, 

Thou  hast  relieved  my  fainting  heart, 
Nor  paid  me  after  my  desert; 
Thou  hast  to  shore  him  safely  brought 
For  whom  I  thee  so  oft  besought. 

22  A 


342       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

Thou  wast  the  pilot  to  the  ship, 
And  raised  him  up  when  he  was  sick; 
And  hope  thou  hast  given  of  good  success 
In  this  his  business  and  address, 

And  that  thou  wilt  return  him  back 
Whose  presence  I  so  much  do  lack. 
For  all  these  mercies  I  thee  praise, 
And  so  desire  e'en  all  my  days. 

IN  THANKFUL  REMEMBRANCE  FOR  MY 
DEAR  HUSBAND'S  SAFE  ARRIVAL,  SEP 
TEMBER  3,  1662. 

What  shall  I  render  to  thy  name, 

Or  how  thy  praises  speak; 
My  thanks  how  shall  I  testify? 

O  Lord,  thou  knowest  I  'm  weak. 

I  owe  so  much,  so  little  can 

Return  unto  thy  name, 
Confusion  seizes  on  my  soul, 

And  I  am  filled  with  shame. 

Oh,  thou  that  hearest  prayers,  Lord, 

To  thee  shall  come  all  flesh; 
Thou  hast  me  heard  and  answered, 

My  plaints  have  had  access. 

What  did  I  ask  for  but  thou  gavest  ? 
What  could  I  more  desire 


Occasional  Meditations  343 

But  thankfulness  e'en  all  my  days? 
I  humbly  this  require. 

Thy  mercies,  Lord,  have  been  so  great, 

In  number  numberless, 
Impossible  for  to  recount 

Or  any  way  express. 

Oh,  help  thy  saints  that  sought  thy  face 

To  return  unto  thee  praise, 
And  walk  before  thee  as  they  ought 

In  stridl  and  upright  ways. 

["This  was  the  last  thing  written  in  that  book  by 
my  dear  and  honored  mother." — Note  by  Simon 
Bradstreet,  Jr.] 


["Here  follow  some  verses  upon  the  burning  of 
our  house,  July  loth,  1666.  Copied  out  of  a  loose 
paper." — Note  by  Simon  Bradstreet,  Jr.] 

In  silent  night,  when  rest  I  took, 

For  sorrow  near  I  did  not  look. 

I  wakened  was  with  thundering  noise 

And  piteous  shrieks  of  dreadful  voice. 

That  fearful  sound  of  "Fire!"  and  "Fire!" 

Let  no  man  know,  is  my  desire. 

I,  starting  up,  the  light  did  spy, 
And  to  my  God  my  heart  did  cry 


344       3T^  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 

To  strengthen  me  in  my  distress, 
And  not  to  leave  me  succorless; 
Then  coming  out,  beheld  apace 
The  flame  consume  my  dwelling-place. 

And  when  I  could  no  longer  look 
I  blest  his  name  that  gave  and  took, 
That  laid  my  goods  now  in  the  dust; 
Yea,  so  it  was,  and  so  Jt  was  just  — 
It  was  his  own;  it  was  not  mine. 
Far  be  it  that  I  should  repine. 

He  might  of  all  justly  bereft, 
But  yet  sufficient  for  us  left. 
When  by  the  ruins  oft  I  passed 
My  sorrowing  eyes  aside  did  cast, 
And  here  and  there  the  places  spy 
Where  oft  I  sat,  and  long  did  lie. 

Here  stood  that  trunk,  and  there  that  chest; 
There  lay  that  store  I  counted  best; 
My  pleasant  things  in  ashes  lie, 
And  them  behold  no  more  shall  I. 
Under  thy  roof  no  guest  shall  sit, 
Nor  at  thy  table  eat  a  bit; 

No  pleasant  tale  shall  e'er  be  told, 
Nor  things  recounted  done  of  old; 
No  candle  e'er  shall  shine  in  thee, 
Nor  bridegroom's  voice  e'er  heard  shall  be. 


Upon  the  Burning  of  Her  House  345 

In  silence  ever  shalt  thou  lie. 
Adieu,  adieu;  all  *s  vanity. 

Then  straight  I  'gan  my  heart  to  chide: 
And  did  thy  wealth  on  earth  abide? 
Didst  fix  thy  hope  on  mouldering  dust, 
The  arm  of  flesh  didst  make  thy  trust? 
Raise  up  thy  thoughts  above  the  sky, 
That  dunghill  mists  away  may  fly. 

Thou  hast  an  house  on  high  erecl:; 
Framed  by  that  mighty  Architect, 
With  glory  richly  furnished, 
Stands  permanent  though  this  be  fled. 
It  's  purchased,  and  paid  for,  too, 
By  Him  who  hath  enough  to  do — 

A  price  so  vast  as  is  unknown, 
Yet,  by  his  gift,  is  made  thine  own. 
There  's  wealth  enough;  I  need  no  more. 
Farewell,  my  pelf;  farewell,  my  store; 
The  world  no  longer  let  me  love. 
My  hope  and  treasure  lie  above. 


346       The  Writings  of  Mrs.  Anne  Bradstreet 


[Another  loose  paper.] 

As  weary  pilgrim,  now  at  rest, 

Hugs  with  delight  his  silent  nest, 
His  wasted  limbs  now  lie  full  soft 

That  miry  steps  have  trodden  oft; 
Blesses  himself  to  think  upon 

His  dangers  past  and  travails  done; 
The  burning  sun  no  more  shall  heat, 

Nor  stormy  rains  on  him  shall  beat; 
The  briars  and  thorns  no  more  shall  scratch, 

Nor  hungry  wolves  at  him  shall  catch; 
He  erring  paths  no  more  shall  tread, 

Nor  wild  fruits  eat,  instead  of  bread; 
For  waters  cold  he  doth  not  long, 

For  thirst  no  more  shall  parch  his  tongue; 
No  rugged  stones  his  feet  shall  gall, 

Nor  stumps  nor  rocks  cause  him  to  fall; 
All  cares  and  fears  he  bids  farewell, 

And  means  in  safety  now  to  dwell  — 
A  pilgrim  I  on  earth,  perplexed 

With  sins,  with  cares  and  sorrows  vexed, 
By  age  and  pains  brought  to  decay, 

And  my  clay  house  mouldering  away, 
Oh,  how  I  long  to  be  at  rest, 

And  soar  on  high  among  the  blest! 
This  body  shall  in  silence  sleep, 

Mine  eyes  no  more  shall  ever  weep; 


As  weary  Pilgrim,  now  at  rest  347 

No  fainting  fits  shall  me  assail, 

Nor  grinding  pains  my  body  frail, 
With  cares  and  fears  ne'er  cumbered  be, 

Nor  losses  know,  nor  sorrows  see. 
What  though  my  flesh  shall  there  consume  ? 

It  is  the  bed  Christ  did  perfume; 
And  when  a  few  years  shall  be  gone 

This  mortal  shall  be  clothed  upon. 
A  corrupt  carcass  down  it  lies, 

A  glorious  body  it  shall  rise; 
In  weakness  and  dishonor  sown, 

In  power  't  is  raised  by  Christ  alone. 
Then  soul  and  body  shall  unite, 

And  of  their  maker  have  the  sight; 
Such  lasting  joys  shall  there  behold 

As  ear  ne'er  heard  nor  tongue  e'er  told. 
Lord,  make  me  ready  for  that  day! 

Then  come,  dear  bridegroom,  come  away. 

August  31,  1669. 


Good?,  and  were  pun&ual  to  their  agreernen%  iiocotfcring  of- 
rewards  to  plunder.     Monfieur  CnflVH  was  !h  r  In  the  Foot  .  « 
*Ti$  faid  th':y  arc  gmic  on  (he  Spauifh  Cuult  to  Trade  ;  o- 
fay  to  GauT'.liloope. 

Cleared  Out  EuU  and  CM*  for  Rhode-  Ifline!,  and  .'7v//iV: 
Lor  Surran-.'m.  Entered  Out  Holland  for  Antigua,  'Sw/£  for 
Curaooa,  #*>c6  for  Barbados,  and.  Sifk'*s  for  Madcra. 
*f  Se!emt  April  a;*/,  Laft  Lords-  Day  dyrd  find  this  day  was 
Buried  rh?!  Honourable  Madam  ^»»  Bradftrect  aped  79  years  ; 
She  was  the  relift  Widow  of  Govcrnour  "Bradftrtrt,  and  a  Gcr- 
tlewoman  of  good  Birth  &  Excellent  Education,  beia^LXiifihrcr 
ro  Emanutl  Downing  Efq;and  Sifter  to  the  Honourable  Sir.Gf  •-••£* 
•Dvantfvg  Bart,  fometime  Envoy  Extraordinary  from  King 
Charts  rhe  II  at  the  Hague  :  But  that  which  rendr^d  her  one 
ofth(  Excellent  Ones  of  the  Earth  washer  known  Eminence 
in  Religion  both  as  to  the  knowledge  and  power  oi  it, 
which  were  happily  Joyned  many  rare  Endowments  oi  'mire', 
and  a  moft  agreeable  Converfation  ;  (he  was  born  ia  Londoi.% 
and  came  very  young  to  New-England,  was  firft  Marrycd  to 
Capr.  Jofefh  Gardner  of  Salem,  and  alterwards  to  Gjvcrnour 
Breetftrttt,  but  left  no  IfTiie  by  cither, 

pifcatafsuAt  April  54,  La(l  Monwfay  a  Man  and  "r.\?. 
Cbcheco  ^oinp,  to  their  Barn  fpf  ed  an  Indian  C'awiin^  \>y  u 
Ft  oce  towards  them,  which  n&ion  of  the  Indian  niacierhcin 
think  he  d(fipntd  mischief,  upon  which  Col.  Waldron  ordered 
an  Alarm  to  br  n»ade  This  Morning  arrived  a  Kerch  ia 
eleven  dnys  from  Virginia,B-njamin  Gatchcl  Mafter.who 


j  v?5th  a  Ship  within  the  Capes,  juft  arrived  from  Englr»>d,  vh-> 
trild  him,  That  the  Peace  was  fign'd,  and  wa$  fo  be  Proclaimed 
the  1  8th.  of  this  Month  ;  he  met  alfo  with  a  Whftch.ivcf  ir.an 
at  Sea,  v^ho  told  him  the  fame. 

t(buit  tf*»4t  Jfnt  14,  On  the  soth  CnrraDt  arrived  here 
the  Sloop  Eagle  of  this  Port  from  Antigua  io  ig  day?.  Ah  the-** 
Burden  Mailer,  who  fays,  that  Abitl  Maaomfar  in  a  Sloop  be 
longing  to  this  place,  was  arriv'd  at  Anrigua  from  Curacon, 
rmd  hsm  thar  tne  Dutch  in  that  Iflmd  were  forc'd  to 
a  Ranforue  of  near  tv/o  hundred  th^f:-.'5  pi  " 

(avc  the  place  from  bciorj  FirV!  a^.d  Pir- 
r.re  T/»c«  from  Antigun,  Lull  from  Ncw-Y.r! 


EXTRACT    FROM    THE    BOSTON 
-NEWS  LETTER/'  April  20-27,  1713- 

From  the  original  in  the  Library  of  the  American  Antiquarian 
Society  at  Worcester,  Mass.  Refers  to  the  second  wife  of 
Governor  Bradstreet,  to  whom  he  was  married  in  1676,  four 
years  after  the  death  of  the  poet,  and  whose  given  name  was 
also  Ann,  or  Anne. 


THE   DUODECIMOS. 

President. 
FRANCIS  WILSON,  New  Rochelle,  N.  Y. 

Vice-President. 
PAUL  LEMPERLY,  Cleveland. 

Secretary  and  Treasurer. 
W.  IRVING  WAY,  Chicago. 

BEN  T.  CABLE,  Rock  Island,  Illinois. 
EDMUND  H.  GARRETT,  Winchester,  Mass. 
EDWARD  STRATTON  HOLLOWAY,  Philadelphia. 
FRANK  E.  HOPKINS,  New  York. 
BRANDER  MATTHEWS,  New  York. 
DE  WITT  MILLER,  Philadelphia. 
HERBERT  STUART  STONE,  Chicago. 
LEON  H.  VINCENT,  Philadelphia. 
A.  W.  WHELPLEY,  Cincinnati. 


BORROWED 


RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM 

CmCUtATlON 


This  book  is  due  on  die  last  date  stamped  below,  or 
on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


,        _      ____•*".*       '*      ^V^ii^_ ^ r-.ruJt-r 

NQV    9  1977  b  i 


REC.  CIR.   DEC  2  7   1978 


RCULATION  DEPT. 


LD21 — 32m — 1/75 
(S3845L)4970 


General  Library 
University  of  Califor 
Berkeley 


GENERAL  LIBRARY  -  U.C.  BERKELEY 


8000773117 


*  •  fc.  '  4     •* 

TY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRk^Y 


V 


